presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 
FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MR.   JOHN  C.   ROSE 

donor 


)CJSAN.     MONDAY     MORNING,     APRIL    9.     1894. 


TO  REST  AT  ST.  JOE 


Remains    of  Ben  King  Brought 
Here  on  Their  Way  Home. 


LIE   AT   THE     PRESS    CLUB. 


Fer  I  live  once  agin  in  the  long  summer  time. 
And  my  soul  it  seems  caught   in   old    time  s  un- 

And  I'm  driftin'  agin  down  the  "River   St.  Joe." 
And  tomorrow  beside   the   "tranquil   old 
river  St.  Joe"  he  wrote  so  lovingly  of  Ben 
King  will  be  laid  to  rest. 

OBITUARY  RECORD. 

,  Abraham  Strauss. 

V — • —  ^  n* „„   ^f  »v.o  firm  nf  Strauss.  Yon- 


A  Great  Throng  of  Friends  Look 
Upon  His  Face. 


Two    Bits   of  His   Verse    Showing    He 

Was  Not  Entirely   Devoted  to 

the  Humorous. 


The  remains  of  Ben  Kin-,  the  humorist, 
arrived  at  the  Dearborn  Street  Statum 
from  Bowling  Green,  Ky.,  early  yesterday 
morning  and  were  received  at  the  d2pot  by 
a  delegation  from  the  Press  Club. 

The  body  was  taken  to  Jordan's  under 
taking  rooms,  and  at  1  o'clock  p.  m.  was 
removed  to  the  Press  Club  rooms,  where  at 
2:30  o'clock  funeral  services  were  held. 
About  400  were  present. 

The  service  J  were  opened  by  the  Imperial 
Quartet's  rendition  of    "Abide    with   Me." 
Sev.  Jenkin  Lloyd  Jones  spoke  of  the  taflu 
ence  exerted  by  the  dead  man,  dwelling  o 
Devalue  to  the  world  of  a  sunny  disposi 
tion       The    quartet    sang    "Lead,    Kindly 
t,"     after    which     Leroy     Armstrong 
oe'on  behalf  of  the  Press  Club     Charies 
Banks,  on  behalf  of  the  Ground  Hog  Club 
Charles    Perkins,    from    the    Whitechapel 
Sub    Earnest  McGaff  ney,  John  McGovjrn 
John    McEnnis,    and    others    made     short 
speeches,    and    Colonel    L.    H.  Ayme   read 
elUies    by    Captain    Jack    Crawford-    and 
Nixon  Waterman.     Rev.  Dr.  Davis,  of   the 
Congregational  Church    of    St.  Joe,  Mxch., 
delivered  the  funeral  sermon. 

The   services   were   closed  by  the  intona 
tion  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  by    the    Imperial 


tributes  were  received  from  many 
sources         The    handsomest     pieces     vver 
f^om  Bowling  Green,  H.  W.  Thearle    of  the     „ 
Lyceum    Bureau,    and    the   Press  Club  of  I 


&N  KING'S 
VERSE 


BEN  KING'S  VERSE 


EDITED  BY  NIXON  WATERMAN 


With  Introduction  by  John  McGovern,  and 
Biography  by  Opie  Read 


Drawings  Contributed  by  Chas.  A.  Gray,  W.  W.  Denslow,  H.  G.  Maratts 

Hay  Brown,  F.  Holmes,  J.  T.  McCutcheon,  Horace  Taylor, 

Win.  Schmedtgen,  T.  E.  Powers,  and 

Harry  O.  Landers 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE  PRESS  CLUB  OF  CHICAGO 
1894 


Copyright 

ASENETH  BELL  KING 
1894 


PlfSS    Of 

.-1.  B.  i'\fo>se  Co»ipan\ 
St.Jnsfpli.  Mir/i. 


SO  FAR  as  we  know,    this   young   man,    now   so   suddenly 
dead,  was  the  drollest  mimic  and  gentlest  humorist  of  our 
region.      He  existed  as  the  welcome  and  mirthful  shadow  of 
conventional  and  tiresome  things. 

He  began  as  the  expositor  of  "The  Maiden's  Prayer"  on 
the  piano,  where  each  accented  note  was  flat  or  sharp,  and  the 
music  flowed  rapidly,  or  over  great  difficulties,  as  the  score 
might  determine.  He  arose,  and  looking  half-witted,  recited 
with  unapproachable  modest}-  the  stammering  delight  which  he 
would  feel  if  he  could  be  by  Her  !  He  frowsled  his  hair  and 
became  Paderewski,  who  forthwith  fell  upon  the  piano  tooth 
and  nail,  tore  up  the  track,  derailed  the  symphony,  went  down 
stairs  and  shook  the  furnace,  fainted  at  the  pedals,  and  was 
carried  out  rigid  by  supers — the  greatest  pianist  of  any  age.  He 
wrote  "  If  I  Should  Die  Tonight  " — a  parody  that  was  accepted 
as  the  true  original,  the  sun,  the  center  of  the  great  If-I-should- 
die-tonight  system  of  thought  and  poetry.  He  wrote  the  poet's 
lament — that  there  was  nothing  to  eat  but  food,  and  nowhere 
to  come  but  off.  The  artists  of  the  newspaper  world  generously 
sprang  to  his  side ;  they  placed  him  pictorially  before  the 
people,  and  determined,  with  almost  prophetic  spirit,  that  our 
small  circle  should  not  alone  dwell  with  undiminishing  laughter 
upon  the  gambols  of  Ben  King.  He  was  coldly,  then  not  coldly, 
then  warmly  received  by  the  church  fairs,  the  clubs,  and  the 
Klks,  where  he  got  a  supper — if  any  were  left.  At  last  he 


8  INTRODUCTION 

charged  a  small  sum  for  appearing  publicly  and  this  sum  was 
rapidly  enlarging  and  his  fortune  was  in  sight,  when  the  hotel 
porter  found  him  dead  in  his  room  at  Bowling  Green,  Kentucky. 

During  the  years  we  knew  him,  he  never  spoke  to  us  in  a 
disparaging  way  concerning  any  other  person,  and  unless 
Paderewski's  comb  was  ruffled  by  Ben's  exhibition  of  hair  and 
haste  in  piano  playing,  no  parody,  or  perk,  or  prank  of  Ben 
King  ever  depended  for  its  success  upon  the  wounding  of 
another  creature's  feelings. 

We  all  accounted  him  a  genius,  and  while  we  could  not 
guess  what  he  would  do  next,  we  awaited  his  performances  with 
complacence,  laughing  as  if  we  owned  him  and  had  ourselves 
ordered  his  latest  jcu  rf'  esprit. 

We  deplored  the  untimely  moment  of  his  end  ;  we  held 
beautiful,  solemn  and  impressive  memorial  services  over  his 
body,  with  music  by  the  sweet  singers  whom  he  had  loved 
when  he  was  alive,  and  touching  words  by  ministers  of  the 
gospel  ;  we  buried  him  affectionately,  as  one  who  could  least 
be  spared  from  our  circle  ;  and  as  we  were  the  witnesses  of 
what  he  did,  we  now  charge  ourselves  to  be  the  testimonies  of 
his  rare  talents. 

Chicago,  Oct.   n,   1894. 

JOHN  McGovERN. 


QENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  KING,  JR.  was  born  at  St.  Joseph, 
D  Michigan,  March  17,  1857,  a°d  died  at  Bowling  Green, 
Kentucky,  April  7,  1894.  He  was  married  Nov.  27,  1883  to 
Aseneth  Belle  Latham,  of  St.  Joseph,  Michigan,  by  Professor 
David  Swing  at  his  residence  in  Chicago.  The  wife  and  two 
sons,  Bennett  Latham  King,  aged  nine,  and  Spencer  P.  King, 
aged  five,  survive  him. 

While  yet  a  child,  music  came  to  Ben  King  as  an  inspira 
tion.  His  infant  fingers  touched  the  keys  of  a  piano  and  a 
ripple  of  notes,  strange  and  sweet,  startled  his  parents  into  the 
consciousness  that  a  great  talent  had  been  given  unto  him. 
How  odd  a  boy  he  was — no  one  understood  him.  On  the  edge 
of  the  marsh  he  would  sit  during  hours  at  a  time,  under  the 
spell  of  the  weird  music  amid  the  rushes.  As  he  grew  up, 
lacking  the  instincts  that  make  men  successful  in  business,  he 
was  pronounced  a  failure — not  by  those  who  had  warmed  them 
selves  in  the  glow  of  his  poetic  nature,  but  by  the  man  who 
believed  that  to  turn  over  a  dime  and  thereby  to  make  a  dollar 
of  it,  was  the  most  gracious  faculty  that  could  be  bestowed  upon 


io  BIOGRAPHY 

a  member  of  the  human  family.  But  when  Ben  King  died,  JSt. 
Joseph  became  more  widely  known  in  one  day  than  hundreds 
of  excursions  and  a  thousand  orchards  had  served  to  advertise 
it  in  the  past.  On  that  April  morning,  people  living  in  the  far 
East  and  the  far  West  asked  the  question:  "Where  is  St. 
Joseph  ? ' ' 

Ben  King  was  not  only  a  man  of  music  ;  he  was  a  poet,  a 
gentle  satirist  and  a  humorist  of  the  highest  order.  Even- 
company  was  brightened  by  his  coming,  every  man  felt  better 
for  having  heard  his  quaint  remarks.  There  was  about  him  a 
droll,  a  charming  irresponsibility — a  Thomas  Hood  from 
Michigan. 

I  find,  as  I  have  found  for  the  fiftieth  time  while  striving  to 
write  these  lines,  that  I  am  still  too  much  under  the  shock 
caused  by  his  death  to  write  dispassionately  of  him.  My  judg 
ment,  the  common  sense  that  one  should  bring  to  bear  upon 
such  a  subject,  is  obscured  by  the  vivid  picture  of  an  early 
morning  ;  and  down  a  dark  hallway  I  still  hear  a  violent  knock 
ing — and  then  comes  a  throbbing  silence  and  out  of  that  silence 
comes  an  excited  whisper — "  Ben  King  is  dead." 

Chicago,  October  9,  1894. 

RKAD. 


Frontispiece 

Introduction 

Biography 

If  I  Should  Die 

Say  When,  and  Say  It    . 

Gittin'  My  Soul  Inter  Shape 

Evolution 

Gedder  In  Yo'  Grain 

Jane  Jones 

Elopement 

Her  Folks  An'  Hiz'n 

The  Yaller  Jackets'  Nest 

How  Hank  Died 

How  Often 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich.     . 

Asphodel 

The  Flower's  Ball 

De  Sun's  Comin'  Back 

The  River  St.  Joe 

The  Robin  and  the  Chicken 

Baby  Up  at  Battenberg's 


4 
7 
9 

17 
18 

19 

20 
22 
23 
25 
26 
28 
30 
31 
32 

34 
35 
38 
39 
40 


12  CONTENTS 

No  Harm  Done           .  •        42 

The  Pates               ...  44 

Paraphrase       ...  -45 

If  I  Can  Be  By  Her         ....  47 

Toboggan          .             .  -49 

De  Bugle  On  De  Hill      .  51 

Old  St.  Joe      .                          ...  -53 

The  Tramp            .....  55 

The  Chautauquan  Maid         .  .         56 

I'm  a  Bluejay         ....  5& 

'Rastus  King                .             .             .             .             .  -59 

That  Valentine     .             .                                       .  61 

De  Good  Ship                                       .             .             .  .62 

A  Casual  Observation       .....  63 

Like  the  New  Friends  Best              .             .             .  .64 

A  Negro  Song  of  Home              ....  66 

S'posin'             .....  -67 

Little  'Rasmus      .                          ....  68 

Nobody  Knows  ......        70 

She  Does  Not  Hear         .             .             .             .             .  71 

Down  the  Mississippi             .             .             .             .  .72 

The  Mermaid        ......  75 

De  Blackbird  Fetch  De  Spring       .             .             .  .76 

Appearances          ......  78 

The  Girl  With  the  Jersey     .             .             .             .  -79 

If  My  Wife  Taught  School         ....  80 

The  Old  Spinning  Wheel      .             .             .             .  .81 

The  Owl  and  the  Crow                 ....  82 

De  Clouds  Am  Gwine  Ter  Pass       .             .             .  .84 

A  Summer's  Afternoon                ....  86 

I  Fed  the  Fishes        ......        87 

Ole  Bossie  Cow  8q 


CONTENTS  13 

That  Cat  .......         90 

A  Frog's  Thanksgiving  ....  91 

Lovey-Loves    .......        92 

Hank  Spink  ......  93 

The  Nile          .......        94 

Like  De  Ole  Mule  Bes'  ....  95 

De  Ribber  Ob  Life  .  .  .  .  -97 

The  Cat  O'  Nine  Tails    .....  99 

The  Hair-Tonic  Bottle  .  .  .  .  101 

De  Circus  Turkey  .....  102 

Sofie  Jakobowski         ......      104 

Sunrise       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  112 

The  Woodticks  .  .  .  .  .  113 

Didn't  We,  Jim?  .  .  .  .  .  115 

The  Post-Driver          .  .  .  .  .  .117 

Lef  de  Ole  Hoss  Out     .  .  .  .  .  118 

Ec-a-lec-tic  Fits          .  .  .  .  .  119 

Keep  Him  a  Baby  .....  121 

Angeliny          .  .  .  .  .  .  .123 

De  Eyarfquake      .  .  .  .  .  .  124 

The  Pessimist  .  .  .  .  .  .126 

But  Then  ......  127 

Presque  Isle  .  .  .  .  .  .129 

Beulah  Land          .  .  .  .  .  .  130 

The  Blackbird  and  the  Thrush        .  .  .  .131 

De  Spring-House  .....  132 

Under  Obligations      ......      133 

Cleopatra  and  Charmian  ....  135 

Pinkey  .......      137 

Bung  Town  Canal  .....  140 

De  Massa         ........      142 

Coonie  In  De  Holler       .....  144 


i4  CONTEXTS 

After  Weidenfeller  Goes  .              .                                                145 

Zaccheus                                .  .                                                      146 

A  Retrospection           .  .148 

St.  Patrick's  Day  150 

Injun  Smmnah             .  .                                         .151 

'Cause  It's  Gittin'  Spring  .                                         .              152 

Decorate  De  Cabin     .  ...       153 

The  Ultimatum     .             .  154 

Dreamy  Days                .  .             .              .             .                     155 

When  the  Stage  Gits  In  ...              156 

The  Cultured  Girl  Again  .                                                      .       157 

De  Cushville   Hop  .             .             158 

Gord  Only  Knows     .  .             .             .                    159 

Jes'  Take  My  Advice       .  .                          161 

Patriotism  and  a  Pension  .             .             .             .             .162 

The  Old  Musician's  Fate  .             164 

A  Record  F'om  'Way  Back  ....       167 

Thanksgibbin'  in  Ole  Virginny  .             .             .              169 

Grave  Matters             .  .             .             .             .             .170 

Comin'  Christmas  Morn  .             .             .             .             171 

Sad  Fate  of  Yim  Yonsen  .             .             ,             .             .174 

Legend  of  the  St.  Joseph  .             .             .             .             176 

Little  Jude       .  ....       179 

Little  Pucken  Singer        .  ...             180 

Down  in  Walhallalah  181 


Ben  King's  Verse 


Ben  King's  Verse 


IF  I  SHOULD  DIE 

If  I  should  die  tonight  * 

And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  say, 
Weeping  and  heartsick  o'er  my  lifeless  clay — 

If  I  should  die  tonight, 

And  you  should  come  in  deepest  grief  and  woe — 
And  say:   "  Here's  that  ten  dollars  that  I  owe," 

I  might  arise  in  my  large,  white  cravat 

And  say,  "  What's  thatl  " 

If  I  should  die  tonight 

And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  kneel, 
Clasping  my  bier  to  show  the  grief  you  feel, 

I  say,  if  I  should  die  tonight 
And  you  should  come  to  me,  and  there  and  then 
Just  even  hint  'bout  payin'  me  that  ten, 

I  might  arise  the  while 

But  I'd  drop  dead  again. 


SAY  WHEN,  AND  SAY  IT 

Write  me  a  poem  that  hasn't  been  writ. 
Sing  me  a  song  that  hasn't  been  sung  yet, 

String  out  a  strain  that  hasn't  been  strung, 

And  ring  me  a  chime  that  hasn't  been  rung  yet. 

Paint  me  a  picture  but  leave  out  the  paint, 
Pile  up  a  pile  of  old  scenes  of  my  schoolery, 

Leave  me  alone  ;  I  would  fain  meditate 

And  mourn  o'er  the  moments  I  lost  in  tomfoolery. 

Tell  me  a  tale  that  dropped  out  of  a  star, 
Push  me  a  pun  that  is  pungent,  not  earthy. 

I  must  have  something  sharp,  strident,  and  strong 
To  eke  out  a  laugh  or  be  moderately  mirthy. 

Give  me  a  love  that  has  never  been  loved, 

Not  knowing  the  glance  of  the  bold  and  unwarv. 

A  cherub  abreast  with  the  saints  up  above, 
And  I'll  get  along  and  be  passably  merry. 

But  come  on  the  fly  to  me,  come  on  the  jump, 

Don't  hang  around  on  the  outskirts  and  walk  to  me 

Throw  out  your  chest  well,  and  hold  up  your  head  ; 
Say  when,  and  say  it,  or  else  don't  you  talk  to  me. 


G1TT1N"  MY  SOUL  INTER  SHAPE 

Reckon  de  angel  what  rolled  'way  de  stone, 

An'  let  de  good  shepherd  escape, 
Some  day  '11  fly  down  to  dis  prison  ob  sin 
An'  lib'rate  all  dat's  prepahed  to  come  in  ; 

vSo  I'se  gittin'  my  soul  inter  shape, 
Gittin  my  soul  inter  shape,   fo'  yo'  see 
Hit's  a  mighty  big  stone  dat's  layiii'  on  me, 

Mighty  big  stone  !     Yes,  indeedy  ! 

I  hoj)e  de  good  angel  will  hab  heaps  o'  strength, 

Or  else  bring  old  Sampson  along, 
Kase  the  sin  on  my  soul's  mo'  'en  fo'ty  foot  deep 
Yo'  see,  I  bin  one  ob  dese  wanderin'  sheep, 

An"  hit's  gwine  ter  need  somebody  strong, 
Gwine  ter  need  somebody  strong,  doan  yo'  see  ; 
Hit's  a  mighty  big  weight  dat's  a  restin'  on  me. 

Pow'ful  big  weight  !     Yes,  indeedy  ! 

I'se  gittin'  my  soul  inter  shape  fo'  de  day 

When  Peter  'gins  takin'  'is  toll  ; 
Readv  ter  lav  down  my  burden  an'  rest, 
Ready  ter  take  up  de  cross  ob  de  blest, 

Ready  ter  eutah  de  fol'. 
Gittin'  my  soul  inter  shape,  (loan  yo'  see  ; 
Dar's  a  big  load  ob  sin  bin  restin'  on  me, 

Hig  load  ob  sin  !      Yes,  indeed}'  ! 
Yes,  indeedv  ! 


EVOLUTION 

\Ve  seem  to  exist  in  a  hazardous  time, 

Driftin'  along  here  through  space  ; 
Nobody  knows  just  when  we  begun 

Or  how  fur  we've  gone  in  the  race. 
Scientists  argy  we're  shot  from  the  sun. 

While  others  we're  goin'  right  back. 
An'  some  say  we've  aliens  been  here  more  or  less, 

An'  seem  to  establish  the  fact. 
O'  course  'at's  somepin'  'at  nobody  knows, 

As  far  as  I've  read  or  cnn  see  ; 
An'  them  as  does  know  all  about  the  hull  scheme, 

Why,  none  of  'em  never  agree. 

Now,  why  I  think  it's  a  perilous  time, — 

What  do  we  know  'bout  them  spots 
I'p  there  on  that  glorious  orb  of  the  day  ? 

Smart  men  has  argyed  an'  lots 
Of  the  brainiest  folks  has  been  cypherin'  out. 

An'  all  sorts  of  stories  has  riz 
.Bout  what  the  sun's  made  of  or  how  it's  composed, 

An'  lots  of  'em  think  that  it  is. 
()'  course  'at's  somepin'  'at  nobody  knows — 

Nobody  under  the  sun  ; 
Nary  a  body  or  bein',  I  s'pose  ; 

Narv  a  bein'  but   One. 


Take  Kva  Ivution,  an'  what  does  she  say 

'  Bout  how  we  all  sprung  from  a  ape  ? 
An'  there's  the  goriller  and  big  chimpanx.ee, 

Patterned  exactly  our  shape. 
An'  I've  seen  some  folks,  an'  I  guess  so  have  you, 

An'  it  ain't  none  of  our  bizness  neither, 
That  actually  looked  like  they  sprung  from  a  ape, 

An'  didn't  have  fur  to  spring  either. 
Course  'at's  somepin  'at  everyone  knows  ; 

1  don't  see  how  you  folks  can  doubt  it ; 
S'posin'  they  have  some  resemblance  to  us. 

No  use  in  a-writin'  about  it. 

If  a  feller  '11  take  a  geology  book 

An'  not  go  a  rushin'  long  through  it, 
But  jes'  sort  o'  figger  the  thing  out  hisself — 

What  I  mean  is  :    'ply  hisself  to  it — 
He'll  see  we've  dug  up  folks  ten  thousand  years  old, 

Built  on  a  ponderous  plan  ; 
Somehow  this  knocks  Mr.  Moses  all  out 

An'  Adam,  the  biblical  man. 
O'  course  'at's  somepin  'at  nobody  knows, 

Nobody  under  the  sun  ; 
Nary  a  body  or  bein'  I  s'pose, 

Narv  a  bein'  but  One. 


(iEDI)ER  IN  YO'  (.RAIN 

De  ole  plow  boss  is  busy 
Breshin'  flies  off  wid  his  tail, 
De  ole  dog's  got  a  move  on  him 
Dat's  zackly  like  a  snail. 
De  ineddeh  grass  is  noddin' 
En  off  yondah  in  de  lane 
I  kin  hyar  de  tree  toads  \varnin% 
'Bettah  gedder  in  yo'  grain." 

Doan  yo'  hyar  de  frogs  a-gnrgliif 
Dar  out  vondah  in  de  pond  ? 
What's  de  inattah  \vid  de  cat  bird, 
Doan  yo'  hvar  his  voice  respond? 
Ain't  de  hull  of  'em  a-tellin'  yo' 
In  language  mighty  plain, 
'Doan  be  frivlin'  way  vo'  moments. 
Kettab  gedder  in  yo'  grain." 

Ain't  de  bumble  bee  a  hummin' 
'Mongst  de  clovah  tops  an'  rlowahs. 
Whilst  de  ole  clock  am  a-tickiif  'way 
De  minutes  an  de  lumalis? 
Chile,  yo's  got  to  be  a  huslin' 
To  ketch  de  wisdom  train. 
Doan'  waste  no  opportunities. 
Hut  gedder  in  yo'  grain. 


JANE  JONES 

Jane  Jones  keeps  talkin'  to  me  all  the  time 
An'  says,  you  must  make  it  a  rule 
To  studv  your  lessons  'ml  work  hard  'ml  learn, 
An'  never  be  absent  from  school. 
Remember  the  story  of  Klihu  Hurritt, 
An'  ho\v  he  clum  up  to  the  top, 
Got  all  the  knowledge  'at  he  ever  had 
Down  in  a  blacksmithing  shop  ? 
Jane  Jones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so, 
Mebbe  he  did — 

I  dunno ! 

()'  course  what's  a  keepin'  me  'way  from  the  top. 
Is  not  never  havin'  no  blacksmithing  shop. 

She  said  'at  Hen  Franklin  was  awfully  poor, 
I'ut  full  of  ambition  an'  brains; 
An'  studied  philosophy  all  his  hull  life. 
An'  see  what  he  got  for  his  pains  ! 
He  brought  electricity  out  of  the  sky. 
With  a  kite  an'  a  bottle  an'  kev, 
An'  we're  owing  him  niore'n  anyone  else 
For  all  the  bright  lights  'at  we  see. 
Jane  Jones  she  honestlv  said  it  was  so  ! 
Mebbe  he  did— 

I  dunno  ! 

(")'  course  what's  allers  been  hinderin'  me 
Is  not  havin'  anv  kite,  lightning,  er  kev. 


Jane  Jones  said  Abe  Lincoln  had  no  books  at  all 
An'  used  to  split  rails  when  a  boy  ; 
An'  General  Grant  was  a  tanner  by  trade 
An'  lived  way  out  in  Ill'nois. 

So  when  the  great  war  in  the  South  first  broke  out 
He  stood  on  the  side  o'  the  right, 

An'  when  Lincoln  called  him  to  take  charge  o%  things, 
He  won  nearly  every  blamed  fight. 
Jane  Jones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so  ! 
Mebbe  he  did — 

I  dunno  ! 

Still  I  ain't  to  blame,  not  by  a  big  sight, 
For  I  ain't  never  had  any  battles  to  fight. 

She  said  'at  Columbus  was  out  at  the  knees 

When  he  first  thought  up  his  big  scheme, 

An'  told  all  the  Spaniards  'ml  Italians,  too, 

An'  all  of  'em  said  'twas  a  dream. 

But  Oueen  Isabella  jest  listened  to  him, 
'Nd  pawned  all  her  jewels  o'   worth, 
'Xd  bought  him  the  Santa  Maria  'ml  said, 
"Go  hunt  up  the  rest  o'  the  earth  !" 

Jane  Jones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so  ! 
Mebbe  he  did — 
I  dunno ! 

()'  course  that  may  be,  but  then  you  must  allow 

They  ain't  no  land  to  discover  jest  now  ! 


ELOPEMENT 

I'm  out  at  the  home  of  my  Mary, 
Mary  so  young  and  so  fair, 

But  her  father  and  mother 

And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I'm  now  on  the  sofa  with  Mary, 

Mary  with  bright,  golden  hair  ; 

But  her  father  and  mother 

And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I'm  way  up  the  river  with  Mary, 
Picnicking  in  the  cool  air  ; 

But  her  father  and  mother 

And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I'm  in  the  surf  bathing  with  Mary  ; 

Her  form  is  beyond  compare  ; 
But  her  father  and  mother 

And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I'm  down  at  the  parson's  with  Mary  ; 

It's  rather  a  private  aifair  ; 
But  her  father  and  mother 
And  sister  and  brother 

Well — none  of  the  familv  is  there. 


HER  FOLKS  A.V  HIZ'N 

He  maird  her  cause  she  had  money  an1  some 
Property  left  from  'er  husband's  income  ; 
Hut  both  of  the  families  was  awfully  stirred, 
An'  said  the  worst  things  'at  the  town  ever  heard. 

En  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

His  folks  begun  it  an'  jest  said  'at  she 

Was  the  worst  actin'  thing  they  ever  did  see  ; 

An'  ought  to  be  ashamed  fer  bein'  so  bold. 

Cause  her  husband  he  hadn't  had  time  to  get  cold. 

En  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

Her  folks  they  all  set  up  'at  he  was  no  good, 

An'  if  'twasn't  for  her — well,  he'd  have  to  saw  wood. 

Then  all  of  her  kin,  every  blasted  relation. 

Said  she'd  lowered  herself  in  their  estimation. - 

So  her  folks  an  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

The  sisters  the}-  told — this  is  'tween  you  and  I — 
'At  they  thought  she  wanted  her  husband  to  die  ; 
An'  they  whispered  around — but  don't  you  lisp  a  word- 
The  awfulest  things  that  a  soul  ever  heard. 


IN'   I!I'//\  27 

So  her  folks  an'  hi/.'n, 
Kr  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 
Never  spoke  to  each  oilier 
Prom  what  I  can  learn. 

They  said  that  a  travelin'  man,  er  a  drummer, 
Who  stopped  at  the  hotel  a  long  time  last  summer. 
That  he — no  it  wasn't  that  now — let  me  see — 
That  she — er  something  like  that  seems  to  me. 

Well,  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

I  hear  'at  the  families  keep  up  the  old  fight, 

A  roastin'  each  other  from  mornin'  till  night ; 

But  the  young  maird  couple  they've  moved  to  the  city, 

Where  gossip  don't  go  ;  but  I  think  it  a  pity 

That  her  folks  an'  hi/.'n, 

An  hi/.'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  speak  to  each  other 

From  what  I  can  learn. 


THE  YALLER  JACKETS'  NEST 

I  f  I  could  only  wander  back 

To  boyhood  jest  one  day, 
So'st'  I  could  have  my  chice  agin 

Of  games  we  used  to  play, 
I'd  let  the  kites  an'  marbles  go, 

An'  say,  "Come  on  boys!  let's 
All  go  out  a-huntin'  fer 

The  yaller  jackets'  nest." 

Jest  to  lay  up  in  the  shaclder 

Of  the  fence  once  agin 
Of  the  old  vacant  lot 

'At  the  cows  pastured  in. 
Where  the  dandelions  were  bloomin', 

'X  there  take  a  rest, 
While  you  listen  to  the  music 

'Round  the  yaller  jackets'  nest. 

There  was  one  'at  allers  went  along 
An'  romped  with  us  'n  raced, 

With  her  sun-bonnet  a  hangin'  back 
'X  curls  down  to  'er  waist. 

In  the  checkered  little  frock  she  wore 
Of  gingham, — what  a  pest 

She  was  to  us  when  huntin'  fer 
The  yaller  jackets'  nest. 


777/i    YALLER  JACKETS  NEST  29 

It's  the  prime  of  the  blossoms 

'At's  a-hangin'  from  the  trees 
An'  the  music  of  the  bu/./.in' 

'At  brings  lonesome  memories, 
Fer  it  seems  as  if  I  heerd  her  say 

"  You  better  look  out,  lest 
They  all  swarm  out  and  sting  yeh 
From  the  yaller  jackets'  nest." 

Sometimes  I  think  I  hear  'er  voice 

An'  see  'er  eyes  of  blue, 
That  borried  all  their  color  from 

The  sky  'at  peeks  at  you 
Between  the  clouds  in  summer 

After  rain  has  fell  an'  blessed 
The  flowers  an'  openin"  blossoms 
'Round  the  yaller  jackets'  nest. 


HOW  HANK  DIED 

"Mother,  the  shadows  are  gather! n'  in. 
Shadows  o'  sunshine  and  shadows  o'  sin, 
Shadows  o'  sorrow  and  shadows  o'  gloom. 
All  of 'em  gatherin'  now  in  my  room. 
See  over  there  near  the  mantel-place  wall 
Is  the  darkest  shadow.     What's  that— a  call  ? 
Oh,  let  in  the  light,  keep  that  shadow  away, 
The  one  with  the  sickle  that  cuts  today. 
And  far  over  there  in  the  sunlands'  West 
I'll  work  in  the  pastur  after  I  rest." 

"Oh,  to  get  out  o'  this  valley  o'  sin 
Up  in  the  cool  o'  the  hillside  agin  ! 
Where  are  the  boys?     All  away  ?     Where's  M'liss? 
Who's  holdin'  my  hand,  an'  whose  arm  is  this? 
Oh,  here  comes  the  shadow  that  beckons — what  pain  ? 
It  must  not  come  near  me  !     Hear  that?     That  rain 
On  the  windows?     See,  down  by  the  foot-board,  where 
The  curtain  moves  !     A  shadow  is  there, 
Comin'  on  tiptoe  !     It's  after  the  light. 
Oh,  don't  give  it  welcome,  that  shadow  of  night !" 

"Don't  leave  me  waitin'  here  now  in  the  dark, 

The  shadows  are  entering.     What— music  ?     Hark  ? 

Can  that  be  the  soft  winds  of  summer  that  send 

Their  sighs  o'er  the  fields  for  the  loss  of  a  friend  ? 

So  cold?     I  am  getting  so  cold,  so  cold. 

Oh.  why  are  the  shadows  so  bold,  so  bold? 

Here  comes  the  grim  shadow,  the  shadow  of  death  ; 

The  cavern-eyed  shadow  that  asks  for  my  breath." 

'Good-bye,"  said  the  toiler;   "good-bye  every  one." 
Then  somebody  whispered:   "  The  reaper  is  done." 
His  head  fell  back,  and  down  by  his  side 
His  white  hand  dropped.     That's  how  Hank  died. 


HOW  OFTEN 

They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 
In  a  park  not  far  from  town  ; 

They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight 
Because  they  didn't  sit  down. 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  city 

Behind  the  dark  church  spire  ; 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  city 

And  kept  on  rising  higher. 

I  low  often,  oh!  how  often 

They  whispered  words  so  soft ; 

How  often,  oh!  how  often, 
How  often,  oh  !  how  oft. 


BFNTON  HAKROK.  \\\(  \\. 

Sometimes  I  ain't  a  thing  to  do  an'  so,  jist  for  the  nonce, 
I  think  of  things  I  didn't  see  out  on  Midway  Plaisance. 
Although  they  claimed  'at  every  tribe  an'   nation,  seems  to  me, 
Was  represented,  yit  there's  some  I  simply  didn't  see. 
I  went  all  throtigh  the  Cairo  Street  an'  saw  the  Luxor  great, 
I  saw  the  South  Sea  Islanders  an'  them  from  Congo  State, 
I  saw  the  Patagonians,  but,  durn  it  all,  my  wish 
Was  more  to  see  them  funny  folks  from 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 

I  took  in  all  the  bikini's  that  was  prom'nent  on  the  grounds. 
Got  in  with  a  C'lumbian  guard  and  we  jist  went  the  rounds. 
I  says  to  him,  "I'm  here  this  week  to  take  the  hull  tiling  in  ; 
I- might  not  git  a  chance  to  go  against  the  thing  agin. 
Outside  o'  hortercnlture  an'  some  o'  the  smaller  fruits 
I  want  to  see  them  Wolverines  at's  still  a-wearin'  boots. 
So  don'  show  me  no  minin'  er  animals  er  fish, 
I'd  rather  see  them  curios  from 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich." 

What  d'  I  care  for  foreign  folks  'at  come  from  pagan  lands? 
I've  heerd  an'  read  enough  of  Paig,  an'  heard  the  torn  torn  bands. 
I've  seen  enough  of  Egypt,  'n  Algiers,  'nd  ancient  Rome, 
An'  now  I'm  jist  a-spilin'  for  somepiif  right  'round  home. 
Why.  gosh  all  Friday  !      Take  yer  Turks  an'  all  yer  foreign  kit, 
I  want  to  see  them  Wolverines,  an'  I  ain't  seen  'em  yit ; 
Old  Michigan  I'm  after  ;  seems  as  if  I  heerd  the  swish 
Of  breakers  like  I  used  to  in 

Benton  Harbor.  Midi. 


33 

So  coinin'  out  from  there  I  says,  "We'll  take  another  route; 
Course,  you  may  know  your  bizness,  but  I  know  what  I'm  about. 
I'm  on  a  hunt  fer  friends  jist  now,  not  Japs  er  Javanese, 
Or  sore-eyed  Esquimaux,  er  Coons,  er  bias-eyed  Chinese. 
I've  heerd  enough  of  'Hot!  hot!  hot!' got  frightened  at  the  roar 
'Round  Hagenbeck's,  an'  shook  hands  with  the  sultan  of  Johore, 
Until  I'm  simply  tired  out,  an'  now  my  only  wish 
Is  jist  to  see  them  old-time  folks  from 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich." 

I  \valked  till  I  got  dusty  an'  thought  I'd  like  to  wash, 
When  lookin'  up  I  saw  a  tower — 'twas  Michigan,  by  gosh  ! 
"Come  on,"  I  says,  "I'll  show  you  now  some  folks  you  never  saw, 
Human  bein's  from  Muskegon,  Dowagiac,  an'  Saginaw  ; 
Them  folks  'at  raises  celery  way  out  in  Kal'mazoo, 
Cassopolis,  an'  Globeville,  an'  Ypsilanti,  too — 
St.  Joe  and  Berrien  Centre."     I  guess  I  got  my  wish, 
I  jined  the  jays  an'  we  went  back  to 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 


ASPHODEL 

Carest  thou  naught  for  me,  lone  Asphodel  ? 

Oh,  flower  !     Shall  all  the  summer  days  long  gone 

Roll  into  space  remembered  not?     What  spell, 

Nay,  more,  what  dream,  what  fantasy  is  this? 

E'en  one  small  hour  to  gaze  and  love.     'Tis  bliss 

Like  Gyges  knew  behind  the  chamlxjr  door 

In  days  of  old.     Those  mellow  days  of  yore. 

Ah,  no,  sweet  flower,  say  not  farewell.  I  pray  ; 
Rut  let  thine  odor  loiter  yet  a  while, 
And  linger  thou  beside  my  lonely  way, 
Spreading  thy  perfume.     And  each  tender  leaf, 
Sparkling  with  dew,  like  tears  in  eyes  of  grief ; 
Eager  am  I  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  stem, 
To  have  thee  near,  and  in  thy  fragrance  dwell. 
Trusting  thee  ever,  fairy  Asphodel, 


THE  FLOWERS'  BAI.l. 

There  is  an  olden  story, 

'Tis  a  legend,  so  I'm  told, 
How  the  flowerets  gave  a  banquet, 

In  the  ivied  days  of  old. 
I  low  the  posies  gave  a  party  once 

That  wound  up  with  a  ball, 
How  they  held  it  in  a  valley, 

Down  in  "  Flowery  Kingdom  Hall. 

The  flowers  of  every  clime  were  there. 

Of  high  and  low  degree. 
All  with  their  petals  polished, 

In  sweet  aromatic  glee. 
They  met  down  in  this  woodland 

In  the  soft  and  ambient  air. 
Ivach  in  its  lolling  loveliness, 

Exhaled  a  perfume  rare. 

An  orchestra  of  Blue  Hells 

Sat  upon  a  mossy  knoll 
And  pealed  forth  gentle  music 

That  quite  captured  every  soul. 
The  Holly  hocked  a  pistil 

Just  to  buv  a  suit  of  clothes. 
And  danced  with  all  the  flowerets 

Uni  the  modest,  blushing  Rose. 

The  Morning  Glory  shining 

Seemed  reflecting  all  the  glow 

Of  dawn,  and  took  a  partner; 

Jl  \va.s  young  Miss  .Mistletoe. 


-:  h'i.o\\ '/•: A'.V  /; .  / /. /, 

Miss  Maggie  Nolia  from  the  south 
Danced  with  Forget-me-not  ; 

Sweet  William  took  Miss  Pink  in  tow 
And  danced  a  slow  gavotte. 

Thus  everything  went  swimmingly 

'Mongst  perfumed  belles  and  beaux, 
And  ever}'  floweret  reveled  save 

The  modest,  blushing  Rose. 
Miss  Fuchsia  sat  around  and  told, 

For  floral  emulation, 
That  she  had  actually  refused 

To  dance  with  A  Carnation. 

The  Coxcomb,  quite  a  dandy  there, 

Began  to  pine  and  mope, 
Until  he  had  been  introduced 

To  young  Miss  Heliotrope. 
Sir  Cactus  took  Miss  Lily, 

And  he  swung  her  so  about 
She  asked  Sweet  Pea  to  Cauliflower 

And  put  the  Cactus  out. 

Miss  Pansy  took  her  Poppy 

And  she  waltx.ed  him  down  the  line 
Till  they  ran  against  old  Sunflower 

With  Miss  Honeysuckle  Vine. 
The  others  at  the  party  that 

Went  whirling  through  the  ma/.y 
Were  the  Misses  Rhodo  Dendron. 

Daffodil  and  little  Daisy. 

Miss  Petunia,  Miss  Verbena,  Violet, 

And  sweet  Miss  Dahlia 
Came  fashionably  late,  arrayed 

In  very  rich  regalia. 
Miss  Begonia,  sweet  Miss  Buttercup, 

Miss  Lilac  and  Miss  Clover; 
Young  Dandelion  came  in  late 

When  all  the  feast  was  over. 


37 


The  only  flower  that  sent  regrets 

And  really  couldn't  come, 
Who  lived  in  the  four  hundred,  was 

The  vain  Chrysanthemum. 
One  flowerlet  at  the  table 

Grew  quite  ill,  we  must  regret, 
And  every  posie  wondered,  too, 

Just  what  Miss  Mignonette. 

Young  Tulip  chose  Miss  Orchid 

From  the  first,  and  did  not  part 
With  her  until  Miss  Mary  Gold 

Fell  with  a  Bleeding  Heart. 
But  ah  !     Miss  Rose  sat  pensively 

Till  every  young  bud  passed  her  : 
When  just  to  fill  the  last  quadrille, 

The  little  China  Aster. 


Uh   SUN'S    COMIX'    BACK 

Hush  !  chilluu,  hush  ! 

Kase  de  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 

Back  agin  a  shinin'  on  de  ole  cypress  tree  ; 

Hush  !  chillun,  hush  ! 
Hit  shuahly  am  a  fac'  agin, 
De  sun's  done  come  back  agin. 
Back  agin  to  me. 

Hush  !  chilluu,  hush  ! 

Foil  de  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 
Pushin'  yaller  glory  rouu'  in  ebberv  spot  it  finds, 

Danciu'  on  de  cradle 

An'  ole  Chloe  \vid  de  ladle. 

An'  coaxin'  out  de  blossoms  on 
])e  honeysuckle  vines. 

Hush  !  chilluu,  hush  ! 

Kase  de  sof '  \viuds  come  back  agin, 
Back  agin,  a  bringin'  all  de  glory  ob  de  spring  ; 

Mv  heart's  jes'  a  throbbin' 

For  off  yondah  is  de  robin. 

An'  de  blackbird  am  a-cluckin' 
An'  I  'low  I  heenl  'iui  sing. 

Hush  !  chilluu,  hush  ! 

Kase  de  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 
1'riugin'  back  de  fac'  agin  Fse  gittin'  mightv  old 

I  often  sit  and  pondah. 

An'  I  wondah,  an'  I  \vondah. 

How  many  times  it's  comiu'  back 
Helb'  I   reach  de  fold. 


THE  KMVEK1  ST.  JOE 

Where  the  bumblebee  sips  and  the  clover  is  red, 
And  the  zephyrs  come  laden  with  peachblow  perfume, 
Where  the  thistle-down  pauses  in  search  of  the  rose 
And  the  myrtle  and  woodbine  and  wild  ivy  grows  ; 
Where  the  cat-bird  pipes  up  and  it  sounds  most  divine 
Off  there  in  the  branches  of  some  lonely  pine. 
Oh,  give  me  the  spot  that  I  once  used  to  know 
Uv  the  side  of  the  placid  old  River  St.  Joe  ! 

How    oft  on  its  banks  1  have  sunk  in  a  dream, 
Where  the  willows  bent  over  me  kissing  the  stream — 
My  boat  with  its  nose  sort  of  resting  on  slioi-e, 
\Vhile  the  cattails  stood  guarding  a  runaway  oar — 
It  appeared  like  to  me,  that  they  sort  of  had  some 
Way  of  knowing  that  I  would  soon  get  overcome. 
With  the  meadow  lark  singing  just  over  the  spot 
I  didn't  care  whether  I  floated  or  not — 
Just  resting  out  there  for  an  hour  or  so 
On  the  banks  of  the  tranquil  old  River  St.  Joe. 

Where  the  tall  grasses  nod  at  the  close  of  the  day, 

And  the  sycamore's  shadow  is  slanting  away — 

Where  the  whipporwill  chants  from  a  far  distant  limb 

Just  as  if  the  whole  business  was  all  made  for  him. 

Oh  !   its  now  that  niv  thoughts,  living  back  on  the  wings 

Of  the  rail  and  the  die-away  song  that  he  sings, 

1  {rings  the  tears  to  my  eves  that  drip  off  into  rhvme 

And  1  live  once  again  in  the  old  summer  time, 

1'or  my  soul  it  seems  caught  in  old  time's  under-low 

And   I'm  floating  awav  down  the  River  St.   Joe. 


THE  ROBIN  AND  THE  CHICKEN 

A  plump  little  robin  flew  down  from  a  tree, 
To  hunt  for  a  worm  which  he  happened  to  see. 
A  frisky  young  chicken  came  scampering  by, 
And  ga/ed  at  the  robin  with  wondering  eye. 

Said  the  chick,     "  What  a  queer  looking  chicken  is  that? 
Its  wings  are  so  long  and  its  body  so  fat !  " 
While  the  robin  remarked,  loud  enough  to  be  heard, 
'  Dear  me  !  an  exceedingly  strange  looking  bird  !  " 

'  Can  you  sing?"  robin  asked,  and  the  chicken  said,  "No," 
But  asked  in  his  turn  if  the  robin  could  crow. 
So  the  bird  sought  a  tree  and  the  chicken  a  wall. 
And  each  thought  the  other  knew  nothing  at  all. 


BAHY  UP  AT   BATTENBERG'S 

Heerd  'bout  what's  happened  ? 
YVhv  <>'  course  ye  has  ; 
Baby  up  at  Battenberg's, 
Hope  it  tain't  the  las'  ! 

Doctor  come  at  eight  o'clock, 
Rig  all  spleshed  with  clay  ; 
Dad  a  trampin'  up  the  hall, 
Skeery? — I  sh'd  say  ! 

Kind  o'  still  'rouu'  the  house, 
Folks  on  tip-toe  walk 
Tell  the  door  is  open 
An'  we  hear  a  squawk  ! 

Doctor  whispers  suthin'. 
Daddy  hollers:    "  No!  " 
Doctor  says  "  twelve  pounder  !  ' 
Daddy  whoops  out  :    "  Sho  !  " 

Daddv — happier" n  a  clam  ! 

Mother  doin'  well  ; 
Haby  up  at  Battenberg's, 

i  laveii't  ve  been!  tell  ? 


NO  HARM  DONE 

Excuse  me,  Mr.  Hand}-,  for  a  droppin'  you  a  line, 

Hut  the  fact  is,  I've  arrived  in  town  and  feeling  mightv  fine  ; 

I'm  stoppin'  at  the  Press  Club,  er  that's  where  I  take  my  meals. 

An'  I  mus'  say  I'm  agitatin'  some  colossal  deals  ; 

But  what  I  want  to  ask  you  is,  'at  seems  a  botherin'  me. 

Is  your  hippodrome  at  Jackson  Park,  that's  what  I  want  to  see  ; 

I'd  lay  all  careful  pains  aside  an'  wear  a  steady  grin 

'F  I  thought  'at  you  could  work  some  scheme 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in. 
Course,  if  you  say  the}-  isn't, 

I'll  say  I's  just  in  fun, 
And  we'll  just  1ft  it  go  at  that — 
They's  no  harm  done. 

Say.  Handy,  what  I  want  is  so's  I  can  push  my  phi/. 

All    round   the   hull    World's   l;air  grounds  an'    see    everything 

they  is, 

An'  when  a  C'lumbian  guard  comes  up  unmannerly  an'  gruff, 
I'll  flash  the  pass  you  give  me,  Handy,  that'll  be  enough, 
An'  passin'  on  an'  mirrorin'  my  face  in  the  lagoon 
Where  that  fellow  is  a  standin'-now  what's  his  name  ?- Neptune. 
1  want  to  see  you,  Major,  yes,  I  want  to  grasp  your  fin. 
Cause  1  know  'at  you  could  work  some  scheme 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in. 
Course  if  you  say  they  isn't. 

I'll  say  I's  just  in  fun, 
And  we'll  just  let  it  go  at  that  — 
Thev's  no  harm  done. 


I  want  Lo  sec-  the  state  bnildin's  an'  all  ther'  is  there, 

I  \vant  to  see  that  queer  machine  that  turns  ont  compressed  air, 

Th'  Administration  Imildin'  an'  the  Agricultural  hall — 

I  tell  yon,  Major,  hones'ly.  I  want  to  see  it  all. 

I'll  be  alone  inos'  of  the  time  an'  nothin's  going  to  please 

Me  better  than  to  get  acquainted  with  those  Javanese. 

Don't  say  a  word  !     Say,  Handy,  I  must  brace  yon  agin  : 

Is  they  an}'  possibility 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in  ? 
Course  if  you  say  they  isn't, 

I'll  say  I's  just  in  fun, 
And  we'll  just  let  it  go  at  that — 
They's  no  harm  done. 

I've  read  the  weekly  papers,  Major,  out  at  old  St  Joe, 

The}' ain't  bin  nothin'  in  'em  'at  the  country  folks  don't  know. 

Some  wants  to  see  machinery,  some  paintin's,  and  some  fish, 

Some  want  to  hear  the  music  too,  but  I  tell  you  my  wish 

Is  just  to  see  them  foreign  girls  from  Spain  an'  sunny  France, 

An'  Abdul  Something,  what's-his-name,   that's  got  them   girls 

'at  dance 

Out  there  in  Midway  Plaisance,  an'  the  Sultan  an'  his  kin. 
Oil,  Handy,  you  must  fix  some  scheme 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in. 
Course,  if  you  say  they  isn't, 

I'll  say  I's  just  in  fun. 
And  we'll  just  let  it  go  at  that — 
Thev's  no  harm  done. 


THE  FATES 

Fortune  came-  to  a  youth  one  day  and  dressed  'iin 
Up  in  liis  best.     While  Society  smiled  and  caressed  'iin, 
Along  came  Toil  with  a  hammer  and  saw  to  test  Mm— 
And  all  three  pressed  'im. 

Manhood  came,  as  it  usually  does,  to  beard  'im  ; 
Virtue  stole  in  and  sat  by  his  side,  but  feared  'im  ; 
Ambition  came  with  wonderful  schemes  and  steered  'im — 
But  all  three  queered  'im. 

Wisdom  came  and  knocked  at  his  door  ;  he  spurned  'iin. 
Frivolity  came  on  bicycle  wheels  and  turned  'im  ; 
Remorse  at  last  came  up  and  stung  'im  and  burned  'im  — 
And  all  three  churned  'im. 

Poverty  opened  his  door  and  found  'im  and  sought  'im  ; 
Paralvsis.  crouched  in  a  corner,  had  finally  caught  'im  ; 
Idleness  claimed  the  prize  because  she'd  taught  'im  — 
Hut  all  three  got  Mm. 

Old  Charon  rowed  up  in  Time's  canoe  and  ferried  Mm 
Over  the  creek,  when  an  undertaker  hurried  Mm, 
Dropped  sand  on  his  box,  while  a  parson  talked  and  worried  Mm- 
Hut  the  whole  crowd  buried  Mm. 


PARAPHRASE 

The  master  of  the  manor  house  each  morn 
T'pou  his  shining'  steed  through  arbored  gates 
Rides  forth  and  out  upon  the  dusty  road 
To  yon  small  hamlet  smiling  on  the  hill. 
At  eve  rides  hack  with  swaying  form  ;  he  meets 
The  faithful  footman  and,  his  charger  placed, 
lie  wends  his  way  into  the  mansion  hall. 
While  I,  down  here  in  meadow  lands  all  day, 
I  only  s-s-stack  the  hay. 

The  opulent  lord  when  mellow  days  are  come, 
At  the  high  note  of  red-combed  chanticleer, 
With  horse  and  hound  and  merrv  crowd  now  bent 
rpon  the  chase.     Swift  through  fox-scented  roads, 
Stopping,  perchance,  at  many  a  wayside  inn, 
The  music  of  the  jingling  glass  is  his, 
While  I  down  here  in  perfumed  clover  fields. 
Hear  but  the  music  of  the  lark  and  jay. — 
I  only  s-s-stack  the  hay. 

Lone  is  the  mansion  on  the  sunlit  hill, 
Save  for  the  daughter  of  the  chivalric  lord, 
Who  comes  now,  finger-kissed  by  high-topped  sheaves 
!  Pausing  the  while,  half  startled  by  the  quail  ), 
To  where  the  haycocks  dot  the  sallow  fields  ; 
Comes  in  the  roseate  flush  of  maidenhood  ; 
Comes  with  a  truant  smile  upon  her  lips. 
And  romping  up  to  me  exclaiming  :    "  Say  !  "- 
H-b-biit  I  —  I  onlv  s-s-stack  the  hav. 


Then  spake  she  soft  as  runs  a  summer  brook 
Or  novel  of  some  scribe  of  amorous  mind  : 

'How  far  the  huntsmen  must  be  on  the  road, 
Because  the  sun  comes  through  my  window-blind  ; 
Within — strange  creakings  'bout  the  halls  :  without — 
The  scurrying  leaves.     So  lonely  am  I  now 
I've  wandered  here  to  ask  whate'er  betide. 
Wouldst  cease  thy  work?     I'ray,  must  you  toil  todav?" 

'W-w-well,  yes,"   I  s-s-say,    "  I  have  t-t-to  s-s-stack  the 
hay." 

'  Ah.  sir  !  "  she  then  replied  :     "A  banquet  spread 
But  yesternight  for  me  with  many  guests 
And  suitors  gathered  'round  the  festal  board 
Sought  ardently  my  hand  ;  and  one  forth  brought 
A  golden  cup  in  memory  of  my  birth. 
Yea,  each  in  quest  of  all  these  lands.     Kind  sir. 
How  now  ;  wouldst  thou  not  drink  from  out  my  cup  ? 
Prithee,  come  solace  me!    Live  while  you  live,  for  aye." 

'  I  c-c-ca-ca-can't,"  I  s-s-say.       "  I  have  to  s-s-stack  the 
hay." 

The  days  roll  on  and  now  a  blase'  youth 
Rides  by  the  manor  house.     A  reaper  he 
In  wisdom's  fields.     No  importuning  maid 
Bade  him  alight.     She  beckons.     Quick  he  opes 
The  gates,  and,  hastening  to  the  banquet  halls, 
He  drinks  to  her,  and,  pledging  endless  love, 
They  fly  to  distant  parish.     Now  the  hills 
And  vales  and  lands  that  roll  away  are  his. 
While  I,  down  here  in  meadow-lands  all  day, 
I  onlv  s-s-stack  the  hav. 


IF   1    CAN   BE  BY  HHK 

1  d-d-don't  c-c-e-are  how  the  r-r-r-obin  sink's, 
I'.r  how  the  r-r-r-ooster  f-f-flaps  his  wings, 
J'!r  whether  't  sh-sh-shines,  er  whether  't  pours. 
Kr  how  high  up  the  eagle  s-s-soars. 
If  I  can  be  h-he  hy  her. 

1  don't  care  if  the  p-p-p-people  s-say. 
'At  I'm  weak-minded  every-w-way. 
An'  n-n-never  had  no  cuh-conimon  sense, 
I'd  c-C-C-Cull-climb  the  highest  p-picket  fence 
If  I  could  b-b-b-be  by  her. 

If  I  can  be  hv  h-h-her.  I'll  s-s-swiin 
'I'he  r-r-r-est  of  life  thro'  th-th-thick  an'  thin  ; 
I'll  throw  my  overcoat  away, 
An'  s-s-s-stand  out  on  tin-  e-e-c-oldest  dav, 
I  f  I  can  b-b-b-bt-  bv  her. 

You  s-s-see  sh-sh-she  weighs  an  a\\  fid  pile. 
1',-b-b-but  I    d-d-d-don't   care — sh-she's   just    in\r  style, 
.\n'  any  f-f-fool  could  p-p-p-lainly  see 
She'd  look  well  b-b-b-bv  the  side  of  UK-, 
If  I  could  b-b-b-hi-   bv  her. 


4S  //<'  /  CAN  HI'.   11  Y  ///:A' 

I  b-b-b-braced  right  up,  and  had  the  s-s-s-and 
To  ask  'er  f-f-f- father  f-f-fer  'er  hand  ; 
He  said:   "\Vh-wh-what  p-p-prospects  have  you  got?" 
I  said  :   "I  gu-gu-guess  I've  got  a  lot, 
If  I  can  b-b-b-be  by  her." 

It's  all  arranged  f-f-fer  Christinas  da}-, 

Fer  then  we're  goin'  to  r-r-r-run  away, 

An'  then  s-s-soine  th-th-thing  that  cn-cu-could'nt  be 

At  all  b-b-efore  will  then,  yon  s-s-see, 

B-b-b-because  I'll  b-b-b-be  by  her. 


TOBOGGAN 

Down  from  the  hills  and  over  the  snow- 
Swift  as  a  meteor's  flash  we  go, 

Toboggan  !  Toboggan  !  Toboggan  ! 
Down  from  the  hills  with  our  senses  lost, 
Jealous  of  cheeks  that  are  kissed  by  the  frost, 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 

With  snow  piled  high  on  housetop  and  hill, 
O'er  frozen  rivulet   river,  and  rill, 
Clad  in  her  jacket  of  sealskin  fur, 
Down  from  the  hills  I'm  sliding  with  her, 
Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 

Down  from  the  hills,  what  an  awful  speed  ! 
As  if  on  the  back  of  a  frightened  steed, 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 
Down  from  the  hills  at  the  rise  of  the  moon, 
Merrily  singing  the  toboggan  tune, 

"Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !  " 

Down  from  the  hills  like  an  arrow  we  fly, 
Or  a  comet  that  whizzes  along  through  the  sky 
Down  from  the  hills  !     Oh,   isn't  it  grand  ! 
Clasping  your  best  winter  girl  by  the  hand, 
Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 


50 


Down  from  the  hills  and  both  growing  old. 
Down  from  the  hills  we  are  Hearing  the  fold  : 

Toboggan  !  Toboggan  !  Toboggan  ! 
Close  to  the  homestead  we  hear  the  ring 
Of  children's  voices  that  cheerily  sing, 

"Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !  " 

Down  from  the  hills  and  we  hear  the  chime 
Of  bells  that  are  ringing  out  Old  Father  Time  ; 
Down  from  the  hills  we  are  riding  away, 
Nearing  the  life  with  its  endless  day  ; 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 


DH  BUCl.H  ON   !>H  Hll.l. 

I  do;m  like  de  noise  oh  dt  marchin'  ob  de  boys. 

An'  I  'low  doan  s'pose  I  evah  will  ; 
Kr  de  tnunpin'  ob  de  feel  to  de  drum's  wild  beat, 

Kr  de  sound  ob  de  bugle  on  de  bill. 
Hit  'minds  me  ob  de  day  when  Gabe  marched  away 

KM  ole  missus  stood  beside  de  cabin  do'; 
Somepin   whispahed   in   my  ear  'bout  my  little  volunteer. 

An'  sade  he  nevah  will  come  back  no  mo'. 

I  'membah  now  de  day  jes'  how  he  marched  away, 

\Vid  de  bright  sun  er  climbiif  up  de  sky, 
Marched  out  en  down  de  street  to  de  drum's  wild  beat, 

Den  dev  fetched  him  home  to  die. 

Oh.    de    sad  en  moanful   way,  po'  ole  missus  kneeled  ter 
pray, 

When  (kibe  sade  :    "  Hit's  gittin'  mighty  still." 
lUit  I  rise  en  jine  de  boys  when  I  hear  de  cannon's   noise. 

Kr  de  blowiif  ob  de  bugle  on  de  hill. 

Hit  'pears  es  if  1  seen  de  ole  plantation  green, 

Kn  sometimes  I  sho'ly  think  I  hear 
De  regiment  pars  by,  en  'low  I  hear  de  cry 

KM  de  moan  ob  my  little  volunteer. 
Kn  I  see  de  moanful  way  po'  ole  missus  kneel  lo 

Kn  sometimes  when  all  a'roun'  is  still, 
I  kin  hear  de  tread  ob  feet  to  de  drum's  wild  beat 

KM  de  blowhf  ob  de  bu'-le  on  de  hill. 


52  DE  BUGLE  OX  DE  HILL 

Dar's  a  spot  mighty  dear  to  dis  ole  darky  here, 

Whar  de  sunlight  is  peepin'  froo  de  palms, 
Wid  his  hands  'pon  his  breast,  dar  my  soldier's  gone  to 
rest, 

Jes'  peacefully  er  sleepin'  in  de  calms. 
En  de  drum's  wild  heat  er  de  tread  ob  marchin'  feet 

No  mo'  kain't  disturb  'im  now  until 
De  Lord  gibs  command,  den  I  know  he'll  rise  en  stand 

At  de  sound  ob  de  bugle  on  de  hill. 


OLD  ST.  JOE 

Of  all  the  towns  that  jest  suits  me 
From  Stevensville  to  Manistee, 
There's  one  old  place  I  can't  fergit ; 
It  ain't  a  great  ways  off,  and  yit 
From  here  it's  sixty  miles  or  so 
In  a  bee  line— that's  Old  St.  Joe. 

I  don't  p'tend  to  write,  an'  ain't 
One  of  them  air  chaps  't  paint  ; 
'F  I  was  I'd  tell  of  scenes  't  lie 
Stretched  out  afore  a  feller's  eye  ; 
Kr  when  the  sun  was  hangin'  low 
I'd  paint  it  right  from  Old  St.  Joe. 

I've  seen  folks  gether  thare  in  crowds 
Jist  fer  to  watch  the  golden  clouds 
Changin'  shapes,  and  sort  o'  windin' 
Into  figgers,  never  mindin' 
That  old  lake  spread  out  below, 
Reflectin'  'em  at  Old  St.  Joe. 

Underneath  them  cedar  trees 

'S  where  I  used  to  take  my  ease. 

Hirds  a-singin'  all  along 

The  hedge,  'an  each  one  had  a  song 

An'  sung  its  best  to  let  yon  know 

They  jist  got  back  to  Old  St.  Joe. 


'I'hev  ain't  no  purtier  silt-  to  me — 
That  is,  'cordin  to  mv  idee — 
Than  jist  to  watch  the  gulls  'at  flv 
Round  that  old  pier  ;  an'  hear  'em  rrv 
An'  circle  round.      II  'pears  they  know 
I'ishin's  good  at  (  )ld  St.  Joe. 

Course  tile  people  over  there 
The}'  don't  notice  'em  or  care — 
What  they're  worrvin'  'bout  is  frost. 
'N  whether  strawberries  is  lost  ; 
Vet  they  'pear  to  take  things  slow, 
Jist  the  same  as  ( )ld  St.  Joe. 

'Ceptin'  rheiiinati/.,  their  health 
Is  middlin'  good,  an'  as  fer  wealth 
They  got  that,  an'  lots  <>'  land  ; 
'Course  the  sile  is  mixed  'ith  sand  ; 
But  that's  what  makes  the  berries  grow 
Over  there  at  Old  St.  Joe. 

Take  it  gener'ly,  as  a  rule. 

A  feller  likes  it  where  it's  cool. 

Where  he  can  sleep,  an'  drink  in  air 

That  conies  perfumed  from  orchards  where 

The  peach  trees  jist  begin  to  blow  ; 

Then  where's  a  place  like  Old  St.  Joe? 

Such  cool  breeze  blowin'  back 
Keeps  the  skeeters  uiakin'  tack 
'N  the  flies  they  mostly  stay 
Tp  round  Pipestoue  creek,  they  say. 
Tell  you  what,  one  thing  I   know — 
They  ain't  no  flies  on  Old  St.  Joe. 


THE    TRAMP 

He  came  from  where  he  started 

And  was  going  where  he  went, 
lie  hadn't  had  a  smell  of  food. 

Not  even  had  a  scent. 
He  never  even  muttered  once 

Till  he  began  to  talk, 
And  when  he  left  the  kitchen  door 

He  took  the  garden  walk. 

lie  said  :   "There's  no  one  with  me, 

Because  I  am  alone  ; 
I  might  have  scintillated  once  ; 

My  clothes  have  always  shone. 
I  got  here  'fore  the  other  ones 

Because  I  started  first ; 
The  reason  I  look  shabby  is 

Because  I'm  dressed  the  worst'" 

Then  I  asked  him  where  he  came  from- 

This  was  just  before  we  parted, 
And  he  muttered  .indistinctly, 

"  Oh,  I  come  from  where  I  started  !  " 


THE  CHAOTAUQUAN    MAID 

She  had  studied  every  ology — 

Ichthyology,  zoology. 
Philology,  geology,  conchology  and  more  ; 

Knew  the  bones  of  every  mammal, 

From  the  mouse  up  to  the  camel, 
And  the  mollusks  and  crustaceans  that  crept  on  every  shore. 

To  think  her  up  in  history 

Was  not  at  all  a  mystery  ; 
She  could  name  you  any  ruler  from  old  England  to  Sumatra. 

It  would  certainly  amaze  you 

What  she  said  about  Aspasia 
And  the  little  unsophisticated  maiden,  Cleopatra. 

She  had  studied  Greek  and  Latin, 

Hebrew,  Sanscrit  ( please  put  that  in  ) ; 
Read  Xenophon  and  Horace,  Ovid,  Virgil  and  the  rest. 

She  didn't  say — •"  I'll  learn  yuh," 

But  teach  you  that  Calphurnia 
Sewed  fifty-seven  button  holes  in  Julius  Caesar's  vest. 

She  loved  to  pull  the  petals 

From  a  flower.     The  baser  metals 
She  doted  on  their  study,  and  for  nuggets  she  would  bone  you. 

She  loved  the  dromedary, 

And  the  docile  cassowrary, 
And  the  feathers  of  the  emu  she  had  stuck  in  her  "chiffonier." 


THE  CHAi;TA('QUAN  MAID  57 

She  had  studied  evolution. 

And  arrived  at  the  solution 
How  long  our  first  appendage  was  ;  of  course,  I  didn't  ask  her, 

But  she  said  that  she'd  resolved  from 

What  she  knew,  that  I  evolved  from 
A  carrot-haired  chimpanzee  she  had  seen  in  Madagascar. 

She  could  scan  iambic  meter 

And  she  knew  each  Roman  praetor. 
And  surprised  me  when  she  told  the  way  the  empire  came  to  fall. 

The  Huns  sneaked  in  the  forum, 

And  the  Romans  tried  to  floor  'em 

But  they  got  themselves  in  trouble, and, of  course,  got  whipped, 
bv  Gaul. 


I'M  A   Bl.fHJAY 

I'm  a  bluejuy  'ml  never  mind 
'!•"  my  toe  does  stick  out  behind. 

When  I  ketch  on  a  limb 

I'm  there  for  keeps — 

'I,esn  I  let  go. 
Of  course  I  must  eat. 

Sometimes,  you  know, 

I  have  to  jes'  let  go 

()'  that  hind  toe. 

I'm  a  dead  sure  thing  in  spring. 

As  soon's  the  weather's  kind  o'  warm 

You'll  notice  me  on  a  fence. 

I  feel  immense 

In  my  bine  suit. 
The  woods  can  ketch  my  chirp  ; 

You  hear  my  toot 
r'rom  then  out  T you  don't  shoot 

At  my  blue  suit. 

I  put  ripe  cherries  in  my  face, 
Same  place  I  wedge  all  the  bugs  ; 

An'  don't  you  ever  think 

'At  I'm  no  good 

An'  sponge  my  way. 
Do  I?     I  guess  I'll  fool  vnh, 

I  eat  yer  durn  "  circnlia." 

I  guess  I  work   my  wav 

'  F  I  am  a  jay. 


•RASTUS    KINC; 

As  you  happen  jes'  to  mention 

( )ld  time  friends  'at  sort  o'  bring 

Mcm'ries  back,  I'd  like  to  ask 

\\"hat's  l)ecome  o'  'Rastns  King? 

Did  he  go  ()ut  west  prospectin' 

1'ar  on  Californy's  rim  ? 
hid  he  settle  with  the  Injuns, 

( )r  did  the  Injuns  settle  him  ? 

What  a  great  big-hearted  feller 

'Rastns  \vas,  and  how  he'd  sing  ! 

Sometimes  tears  '11  start  to  rollin' 
When  I  think  o'  'Rastus  King. 

Where  is  lie  an'  what's  'come  of  him? 

Is  he  toilin'  hard  fer  bread  ? 
Is  he  prosperous  and  wealthy  ? 

Is  he  livin'  still,  or  dead? 

How  my  heart  recalls  the  mornin' 
That  I  met  him.      Splittin'  wood, 

I'avin'  fer  his  school  tuition, 
Karnin'  thus  a  livelihood. 

A  Hers  boarded  at  the  neighbors, 
Turned  his  hand  at  anything  ; 

Faithful,  honest  ;  well  the  farmers 
Simply  swore  by  'Rastus  King. 


6u 


Find  him  down  to  nieetin'  Sundays 
Sittin'  in  the  deacon's  pew  ; 

Talk  about  yer  knowledge  ;  he  had 

Read  the  Bible  through  and  through. 

When  the  choir  would  jine  together 
An'  with  the  congregation  sing, 

Way  above  all  other  voices 

Von  could  hear  'ini — 'Rastus  King. 

Did  you  ever  come  to  meet  'im  ? 

Do  you  think  he's  livin'  here? 
Say,  he  ain't  much  older'n  I  am  ; 

Reckon  now  he's  sixty  vear. 

Last  I  heerd  he's  doin'  splendid, 
Rich,  fast  horses,  everything. 

Jest  like  him,  a  regular  schemer  ; 
Oh  !  I  knew  him,  'Rastus  King. 

Then  the  hackman  I'd  been  asking 

All  these  questions  thus  did  say  : 
'  Rastus  livin'  purty  quiet ; 

Don't  go  out  at  all,  they  say." 

'  Don't  go  out  at  all — why  stranger?  " 

"  What's  the  matter?     Did  he  fail  ?  " 
'  Well,"  said  he,  "  nothin's  the  matter 
Stephen,  only  he's  in  jail." 


THAI    VALENTINE 

Once  I  remember  years  ago 

I  sent  a  tender  valentine  ; 
I  know  it  caused  a  deal  of  woe. 
Once  I  remember  years  ago, 
Her  father's  boots  were  large,  yon  know. 

I  do  regret  the  hasty  line. 
Once  I  remember  years  ago 

I  sent  a  tender  valentine. 

I  know  I  never  can  forget 

I  sent  the  tender  valentine  ; 

Somehow  or  other  I  regret, 

Hut  how  I  never  can  forget, 

Hut  then,  I  know,  I  know  I  met 

Her  father,  Oh,  what  grief  was  mine. 

I  know  I  never  shall  forget 
I  sent  a  tender  valentine. 


L)H    GOOD  SHIP 

I'se  l)in  watchin'  long  '^r  de  Good  Ship, 
De  (iood  vShip  de  Lo'd  sent  ter  me  ; 

An'  it  'pears  dat  hit's  had  a  long  voyage 
Crossin'  life's  troublesome  sea. 

I'se  spected  it  'long  in  de  inoh'nin'. 

When  nary  a  sail  was  in  sight, 
An'  I'se  looked  fer  it  'long about  noondav 

'X  watched  fer  it  way  in  de  night. 

Till  I  cast  my  eye  ovah  de  boun'less 
Ole  ocean,  an'  what  did  I  see:1 

Off  dar  in  de  hush  ob  de  distance 
De  Good  Ship  a  coinin'  to  me. 

So  I  laid  my  haid  down  on  my  pillow, 
Fo'gettin'  life's  worry  an'  sin  ; 

An'  when  I  awoke  in  de  moh'nin'. 
Mv  Good  Ship  had  done  got  in. 


A   CASUAL  OBSERVATION 

Dar's  nuffin'  hyar  but  vanity 

An'  riches  an'  insanity  ; 
De  dollah  seems  to  be  de  people's  god. 

Dar's  a  heap  too  many  'Scariots 

A  ridin'  'roun'  in  chariots, 
AVhile  de  po'  man  am  a  carryin'  de  hod. 

Dar's  too  much  haste  an1  hurryin', 

An'  too  much  wealth  at  buiyin', 
An'  dis  hyar  t'ing  am  gettin'  worse  an'  worse, 

Hit  takes  all  ob  de  rakin's, 

De  scrimpin's  an  de  scrapin's 
To  liquidate  de  'spenses  ob  de  hearse. 

Dar's  heaps  ob  care  an'  worry  ; 

Kbbery  body's  in  a  hurry, 
An'  de  few  am  growin'  richer  ebbery  day  ; 

But  de  most  of  us  must  shovel 

For  de  children  in  de  hovel 
An'  silentby  await  de  judgment  day. 


- 


I.IKE  THE  NEW  FRIENDS  BEST 

Don't  talk  to  me  o'  old  time  friends. 
But  jes  give  me  the  new. 
The  old  friends  may  be  good  enough, 
But  somehow  they  won't  do. 
I  don't  care  for  their  old  time  ways  ; 
Their  questions  you'll  allow 
Are  soulless  as  a  parrot's  gab  : — 
"  Well,  what  you  up  to  now?  " 
That's  one  thing  I've  agin  'em 
'Cause  that  with  all  the  rest, 
Like  hintin'  'bout  some  old  time  debt; 
1  like  my  new  friends  best. 

I  meet  an  old  friend  in  the  street, 
As  oftentimes  I  do, 
Mechanically  he  stops  to  shake 
An'  say  :   "  Well,  how  are  you  ?  " 
Then  drawin'  down  his  face,  as  if 
His  cheeks  was  filled  with  lead, 
He  says  :   "  I  spose  you've  heard  the  news: 
"  No  !  "      "Kli  Stubbs  is  dead. 
An'  'fore  he  died  he  ast  for  you — 
Seemed  sorry  you  was  gone, 
An'  said  'at  what  he'd  let  yon  have 
He  hoped  would  help  you  on." 
Now  that's  why  I  don't  like  'em  much. 
You  prob'bly  might  have  guessed. 
I  aint  got  much  agin'  'em.  but 
I  like  the  new  friends  best. 


6.5 


Old  friends  are  most  too  home-like  now. 

They  know  your  age,  and  when 

Von  got  expelled  from  school,  and  lots 

Of  other  things,  an'  then 

They  'member  when  3-011  shivereed 

The  town  an'  broke  the  lights 

(hit  of  the  school  'nen  run  away 

An'  played  "  Hunt  Cole  "  out  nights. 

The\-  'member  when  yon  played  around 

Your  dear  old  mommy's  knee, 

It's  them  can  tell  the  verv  date 

That  vou  got  on  a  spree. 

I  don't  like  to  forget  'em,  vet 

If  put  right  to  the  test 

Of  hankerin'  right  now  for  'em 

I  like  the  new  friends  best. 


A  NEGRO  SONG  OF  HO.Vlt 

'Taint  berry  many  people  wal'll  listen  to  a  nii^ali 

Un  'low  (ley's  eiiny  sense  in  \vot  he  say, 
Hut   Ise  <^\vine  ter  <,ruv  de  's])erience  of  mail   fec-lin's,  and   1 

figgah 

Dat  dey's  quite  a  smart  o'  people  tinks  mail  way. 
Wen  a  man  begins  a-shoutin*  'bout  de  <food  tings  dat  he's 

missin' 

Kickin'  kase  dey  ain't  a  fortune  in  his  job, 
Let  'im  go  home  to  his  kitchen,  an'  st-t  down  a  while  an' 

listen 
To  de  singin'  ob  de  kettle  on  de  hob. 

I've  hayrd  de  strains  ob  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  when  1'atli 
was  a-singin' 

An'  de  aujience  was  a-spilliif  ob  deir  tears  ; 
But  I  didn't  mind  the  shigah,  fo'  a  different  time  kep'  ringin' 

Wif  hits  ha'nty  kin'  ob  music  in  mall  ears. 
An'  I  reckerni/.ed  de  melerdy  so  powerful  bewitchin' 

Dat  made  mall  heart  like  sixty  fo'  ter  t'rob. 
An'  I  mejiate  fell  a  hank'rin'  fo'  my  coxy  little  kitchen 

An'  de  siugin'  ob  de  kettle  on  de  hob. 

i)e  rich  man  can  inhabitate  a  palace  ei  he  wishes, 

\Vifbrick-er-brack  and  picluahs  on  de  wall  ; 
An  kin  lay  on  velvet  sofers  an'  eat  ofFn  golden  dishes. 

But  I  wouldn't  swap  niah  kitchen  fo'  his  all  ; 
!'o'  hit  wouldn't  be  like  home  ter  me  but   'ceptin'    I   could 
listen 

A  puffin'  at  de  backy  in  niah  cob 

While  de  good  Lawd  seemed  a-speakin'  ob  a  home-like-  kin' 
ol)  bless' n 

1 'rough  de  sin^m'  ob  de  kettle  on  de  hob. 


S'POSIN' 

AVlmt  if  the  new  San  Francisco  should  sail 

To  Chilian  waters  away, 
\Yith  the  Boston  and  Vorktown  afar  in  the  east 

'Xd  the  Lancaster  off  in  Bombay  ; 
'X~d  the  big  Philadelphia — s'posin'  she  wu/. 

A-loadin'  with  tea  in  Japan, 
With  the  Concord  and  Bennington  flyin'  so  gay 

Their  colors  around  Hindostan  ; 
'Xd  s'posin'  the  Charleston  wuz  in  Behring  Sea, 

\\'ith  the  Newark  in  Pamlico  Sound, 
'X"d  the  Miantonomah's  big  bilers  should  bust 

'Xd  the  Baltimore  run  hard  aground  ; 
Then  s'posin'  we  got  in  a  fight  right  away 

With  Chili  or  even  Peru, 

'Xd    Kngland  should   work   the  shell   game 
York, 

Sav — what  in  the  deuce  would  we  do? 


LITTLE  'RASMUS 

De  Great  Good  Speret  come  down  from  above 

An'  took  little  'Rasmus  away  ; 
Took  my  leetle  'Rasmus  dat  played  peep  wid  me. 
En  rode  out  to  Banbury  Cross  on  my  knee, 

Took  po'  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 
Took  my  little  'Rasmus  dat  played  roun'  de  do' 
An'  danced  at  de  sunbeams  dat  fell  on  de  flo', 

Took  my  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 

Dat's  why  Ise  down-hearted  an'  kain't  fin'  relief. 
An'  ol'  an'  bent  over  ;  Ise  loaded  with  grief 

Kase  'Rasmus  has  done  gone  away. 
De  Great  Good  Speret  comes  down  from  de  sky 
An  hovahs  aroun'  ebbery  day, 
An  hit  'pears  what  yo's  lovin'  a  leetle  too  much, 
De  good  speret  takes  it  away. 

Kase  he  took  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 

But  I  knowde  Good  Speret  mus'  be  mighty  glnd 
But  dis  darkey's  heart  am  jes'  mounful  an'  sad 

Since  'Rasmus  has  done  gone  away. 
An  inos'ly  at  morn,  when  de  whimperin'  breeze 
Am  loiterin'  up  in  de  sycamore  trees, 
An'  at  noon  when  de  sun  dances  roun'  on  de  flo' 
Dis  ole  darkey's  heart  am  jes'  burdened  wid  woe, 
An'  at  night  twixtde  win'  an'  de  patterin'  rain, 
My  po'  soul  an'  body  am  restless  wid  pain 

Since  'Rasmus  has  done  gone  away. 


UTTU<:  ' kASMUS  fie) 

Rut  I  know  de  Good  Speret  comes  down  from  de  sky 
An'  hovahs  aroun'  ebbery  day, 
An'  liit  pears  what  yo'  worship  a  leetle  too  much 
De  Good  Speret  takes  it  away, 
Knse  il  took  leetle  'Rasmus  away — 
Took  po'  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 


NOBODY    KNOWS 

Nobody  knows  when  de  col'  winds  am  blowin'. 
Whar  all  de  po'  little  chilhin  am  a-goin'. 
Nobody  knows  when  de  night  time's  hoverin' 
How  many  little  ones  am  des'tute  ob  coverin'. 
Nobody  sees  but  de  Lo'd  done  see  'em, 
An'  bime-by  de  Lo'd  '11  tell  humanity  ter  free  'em. 

Nobody  knows  jes'  how  many  am  in  rags, 

A-sleepin  in  de  hot  blocks  an'  'roun'  on  de  flags. 

Nobody  sees  all  dis  poverty  an'  woe, 

A-livin'  on  de  emptyins  an'  not  a  place  ter  go. 

Nobody  sees  but  de  Lo'd  done  see  'em. 

An'  bime-by  de  Lo'd  '11  tell  humanity  ter  free  'em. 

Nobody  knows  whar  dis  poverty  all  comes — 

How  many  po'  folk  am  sleepin'  in  de  slums. 

Nobody  knows  jes'  how  few  am  befriendin'. 

But  de  good  Lo'd  knows  dar  must  soon  be  an  endin' 

Nobody  sees  but  de  Lo'd  done  see  'em, 

An'  bime-bv  de  Lo'd  '11  tell  humanitv  ter  free  'em. 


SHE  DOF.S  NOT  HF.AR 

Sh-sh-sh-sh-she  does  not  hear  the  r-r-r-r-robin  sing, 
Nor  f-f-f-f-feel  the  b-b-b-b-balmy  b-b-breath  of  Spring ; 
Sh-sh-sh-she  does  not  hear  the  p-p-peltitig  rain 
B-b-b-beat  ta-ta-tat-t-t-toos  on  the  w-w-winder  p-p-pane. 

Sh-sh-sh-she  ciic-cuc-cannot  see  the  Autumn  s-s-sky, 
Nor  hear  the  wild  geese  s-s-s-stringing  b-b-bv  ; 
And,  oh  !  how  happy  t-t-t-'tis  to  know 
Sh-sh-she  never  f-f-feels  an  earthly  woe  ! 

I  s-s-spoke  to  her  ;  sh-sh-she  would  not  speak. 

I  knk-kuk-kuk-kissed  her,  but  c-c-cold  was  her  cheek. 

I  could  not  twine  her  w-w-w-wondrous  hair — 

It  w-w-was  so  wonderf-f-f- fully  rare. 

B-b-beside  her  s-s-stands  a  v-v-v-vase  of  flowers, 
A  gilded  cnc-cuc-cuc-clock  that  t-t-tells  the  hours  ; 
And  even  now  the  f-f-nre-light  f-f-f-falls 
On  her,  and  d-d-dances  on  the  walls. 

Sh-sh-she's  living  in  a  p-p-pup-purer  life. 

Where  there's  no  tu-tuh-turmoil  and  no  strife  ; 

Xo  t-t-t-tongiK-  can  ni-ni-ni-inock,  no  words  embarrass 

Her  b-b-b-b-by  g-g-gosh  !  she's  p-p-plaster  paris  ! 


DOWN  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

Oh,  de  ole  plantation  lamlin'. 

On  de  Mississippi  sho'. 
'  Pears  es  if  I  seed  ole  niassa 

Standin'  waitin'  dar  once  mo'— 
Back  aways  to  whar  de  cabin's 

Almos'  hid  by  lilac  trees — 
Seems  es  ef  I  h'yard  po'  missus 

Singin'  old-time  melodies. 

Hollyhocks  en  honeysuckles 

Grow  en  bloom  along  de  way. 
Leadin'  np  dar  to  de  cabin  ; 

But  de  ole  folks,  whar  are  dey  ? 
An'  de  winin'  path  a  Icadin' 

Ronn'  de  house  ;  sometimes  a  spell 
Seems  es  ef  I  h'yard  de  win'less 

H'istin'  watah  f'om  de  well. 

Cap'n,  kain  yo'  stop  de  boat,  sail? 

Stop  de  boat,  kase  well  I  know 
I  has  done  gone  down  dis  rivah 

'Bout  es  far's  hi  keah  ter  go. 
You  kin  Ian'  me  soon's  vo's  ready, 

En  I  'low  I'll  fin'  mah  way 
Back  to  dat  ole  shattah'd  homestead 

Whar  de  sun  shines  froo  today. 


Massa  Lincoln's  gunboats  Iff  it 

Jais  dat  way  in  sixty-three  ; 
Cose  <ley  did  some  nionsns  damage, 

Hnl  dev  st-t  us  dahkies  free. 
llo\v  I  'nienibah  po'  ole  missus 

Standin'  n'vah  de  cabin  do' 
Kn  she  say  :  "  Vo1  gwine  off,  'Rasmus? 

Ain'  yo'  gwine  come  back  no  mo'  ?  " 

Den  I  sade  :  "  Not  x.ackly,  missus  ; 

Somepin's  done  ketched  ontah  me. 
Dar's  a  big  stampede  ob  darkies 

From  Kaintnck  en  Tennessee. 
When  de  boat  comes  up  de  ribbah 

Whistlin'  'roun'  de  lower  bow 
I  mus'  leebe  de  ole  plantation — 

Yas,  must  say  good-bye  en  go." 

Massa  so't  o'  bowed  his  haid,  sah, 

vSittin'  in  'is  ole  ahm-chair  ; 
Missus,  standin'  on  de  do'  step 

Caught  de  sunlight  in  her  hair  ; 
An'  de  breezes  from  de  orchard 

Teared  to  rustle  froo  de  trees, 
Kn  1  h'vard  old  Judy  weepin' 

\Vid  de  chillun  roun'  her  knees. 


74 


Tale  y<>'  I  was  mighty  sad,  sah, 

P>ul  I  sort  o'  walked  away. 
Years  en  years  ago  it  was,  sah  ; 

Now  Ise  wanderin'  back  todav. 
'Deed  Ise  lookin'  back  en  ga/.in' 

Mos'ly  now  each  side  de  stream. 
Lan 'marks  gittin'  mighty  natch'l. 

'Clar  hit  'pears  jais  like  a  dream. 

Dar's  de  place  !     Dat's  hit,  dar,  cap'n. 
His  }-ere  side  ole  ole  ho'n  bow  ; 

'Low  yo'  needn't  stop  de  steamah  ; 
Jais  slack  up  a  leetle — slow. 

•'•;  *  -T  * 

Dar's  de  same  ole  steps  a-climbin' 
F'om  de  landin'  to  de  hill. 

Lan'  ob  goodness  !  Ef  cle  bushes 
Aint  a-growin'  thickah  still. 

In  de  Ian'  ob  cle  forgotten  ; 

Not  a  soul  along  de  hill  ; 
Not  a  voice  to  wake  yo'  gladness  ; 

Everything  do  'pear  so  still  ; 
Not  an  echo  to  a  footstep  ; 

Not  an  ansah  to  a  call 
'Sep'  a  mockin'-bird  a-singin' 

To  de  lonesomeness — dat's  all. 


THh  MhKMAID 

Sweet  inennaid  of  the  incomparable  eyes, 

Surpassing  glimpses  of  the  April  skies. 

Thy  form,  ah,  maid,  of  the  billowy  deep  ! 

So  rare  and  fair,  but  to  possess  I'd  creep 

Where  the  old  octopus  deep  in  his  briny  haunts 

Comes  forth  to  feed  on  anything  he  wants  ; 

Where  mollusks  crawl  and  cuttle-fish  entwine, 

There  on  crustaceans  be  content  to  dine. 

What  ecstasies  in  some  calcareous  valley, 

Had  I  but  scales  like  thee  'tis  there  we'd  dally, 

There  seek  each  peak  and  let  no  other  bliss 

Be  more  enchanting,  than  one  salt-sea  kiss  ; 

There  sit  and  bask  in  love,  and  sigh,  and  feel 

Kach  other's  fins  throb,  or  perhaps  we'd  steal 

To  some  lone  cavern.     I  suppose  you  know  a 

Place  where  we  could  pluck  the  poly/.oa, 

Or  in  your  boudoir  by  your  mirror  there 

I'd  comb  the  sea  weed  from  your  auburn  hair. 

Hut  hush!  A  red-haired  mermaid  sister  comes  this  way 

And  lashing  with  her  tail  the  wavelets  into  spray. 

Cometh  she  alone  o'er  yonder  watery  pampas? 

i.  )h,  no.  Hy  Jove!  There  comes  the  white  hippocampus. 


DE  BLACKBIRD  FETCHED  DE   SPUING 

When  de  autumn  leabes  was  I \vislin' 

An'  a  tryin'  ter  git  loose 
An'  de  apples  in  de  cidah  press 

Had  done  turned  inter  juice  ; 
When  de  blackbird  got  down-hearted 

An'  made  up  his  mind  ter  go, 
Hit  was  den  de  time  dis  dahkey's  heart 

Was  jes  pahboiled  wid  woe. 

lie  was  wid  me  in  de  furries 

In  de  suminah  fields  ob  co'n, 
An'  aroun"  a  hookiif  cherries— 

'Deed  he  was,  mos'  ebbery  nio'n, 
An'  he  he'p  me  dribe  de  horses, 

Cluckt  an'  cluckt  ter  make  'em  go. 
Dai's  whv  1  'low  dis  dahkey's  heart 

Was  jes'  pahboiled  wid  woe. 

But  he  notice  dat  de  yellerin' 

Was  a-coinin  on  de  leahes, 
An'  de  win'  was  so't  o'  whinin',  too, 

Jes'  like  a  dog  dat  grebes, 
An'  wid  nuffin'  in  de  cherry  tree 

Kxceptin'  wintah's  bref, 
One  day  in  fall  he  'lowed  he'd  go 

En  jes'  skip  out  himself. 


BLACKBIRD  FETCHED  DE  SPRING 

Hi  kaiift  persarsely  blame  'iin, 

Kase  I'd  went  ef  I  was  him  ; 
'Low  he  knew  de  winlah  wedder 

Would  done  free/.e  'iin  to  de  limb. 
Kase  he  couldn't  ha'dly  navigate, 

Kr  couldn't  chick  er  sing, 
Kn  so  he  said  :   "  Good-bye  ole  num. 

ISL-  comin'  back  in  spring." 

l)is  niohnin',  honey,  'deed  I  heerd, 

When  ebberyt'ing  was  calm, 
A  song  dat  tetched  niah  po'  ole  heart 

Like  oil  of  gladest  balm. 
An'  who  should  I  see  settiif  dar 

Upon  de  ole  hay  rack, 
But  mail  blackbird,  shuah,  niah  blackbird, 

An'  'e  said,  "  Ise  jes'  got  back." 

Den  he  opened  up  his  warble, 

When  de  gentle  winds  so  soft 
Came  dancin'  from  de  hill-tops  dar. 

An'  o'er  de  meddah  croft. 
An'  down  hyar  by  mail  cabin  do' 

He  sang  an'  flashed  his  wing, 
An'  I  praised  de  Lo'cl  of  glory, 

Kase  my  blackbird  fetched  de  spring. 


APPEARANCES 

I)e  man  dat  walls  de  slickest  tile, 
Doan  draw  de  bikes'  check  ; 

De  riches'  lookin'  kin'  ob  sile 
Doant  yiel'  de  biggx-s'  peek. 

I)e  boss  dat'shighes'  in  de  pool 
Doan  always  win  de  race, 

Kase  sometimes  he's  a  little  off, 
An'  sometimes  held  fo'  place. 

De  bulldog  wid  de  orn'ry  jaw 
Ain'  half  so  bad  to  meet 

As  dat  dar  yaller  mungril  cur 
Dat's  layin'  for  yo'  meat. 

De  mooley  cow  dat  hists  her  leg, 

An'  makes  de  milk  maid  scream, 

Am  jes'  de  bossie  cow  dat  gives 
De  richest  kiu'  ob  cream. 

De  mule  dat  hab  de  wicked  eye 
Ain'  half  so  bad,  now  min'  — 

Look  out  for  dat  old  sleep}'  mule 
Vo's  walkin'  rotin'  behin'. 


THE   GIRL   WITH   THE   JERSEY 

You  can  sing  of  the  maid 

Who,  in  faultless  attire, 

Rides  out  in  her  curtained  coupe; 

Her  robes  are  exquisitely  fashioned  by  Worth — 

At  eve  they  are  decollette; 

But  I,  I  will  sing  of  a  maiden  more  fair, 

More  innocent,  too,  I  opine; 

You  can  choose  from  society's  crust,  if  you  will, 

But  the  girl  with  the  jersey  is  mine. 

I  know  her  by  all  that  is  good,  kind  and  true, 

This  modest  young  maiden  I  name; 

I've  walked  with  her,  talked  with  her, 

Danced  with  her,  too, 

And  found  that  my  heart  was  aflame; 

I've  written  her  letters,  and  small  billet-doux, 

Revealing  my  love  in  each  line: 

You  can  drink  to  your  slim,  satin-bodiced  gazelle, 

But  the  girl  with  the  jersey  is  mine. 


IK  MY  WIFE  TAUCiHT  SCHOOL 

If  I  had  a  wife  'at  taught  school  I  would  go 
To  far  away  countries.     I'd  fish  from  the  Po 
In  a  gondola  gay  and  the  splash  of  my  oar 
Would  be  heard  by  the  natives  around  Singapore-. 

If  my  wife  taught  school. 

I  would,  wouldn't  you? 

Er  wouldn't  yuh  ? 

Knny  way  what  would  you  do? 

If  I  had  a  wife  'at  taught  school  I  would  get 
Something  fine  in  the  shape  of  a  furniture  set; 
If  I  could  pay  my  board  and  she  could  pay  hern. 
There's  a  good  many  nice  little  things  I  could  earn. 

If  my  wife  taught  school, 

I  would,  wouldn't  you  ? 

Er  wouldn't  yuh  ? 

Anyway  what  would  vou  do  ? 

If  my  wife  taught  school  you  can  bet  I  would  tly 
Like  a  condor,  I'd- roost  pretty  middlin'  high; 
I'd  wear  a  silk  tile  and  own  hosses,  I  vow, 
And  do  lots  of  things  I  ain't  doin'  now. 

If  my  wife  taught  school 

I  would,  wouldn't  you  ? 

Er  wouldn't  yuh? 

Anyway  what  would  you  do  ? 

If  my  wife  taught  school  like  some  women  do. 
And  I  couldn't  earn  quite  enough  for  us  two, 
I'd  go  in  the  barnyard,  without  any  fuss, 
I  would  blow  out  my  brains  with  a  big  blunderbuss. 

If  my  wife  taught  school, 

I  would,  wouldn't  you? 

Er  wouldn't  yuh  ?  4 

Anvwav  what  would  vou  do? 


THt  01.1)  SPINNING  WHEEL 

Do  you  remember  the  old  spinning  wheel 

That  stood  in  the  attic  so  many  years  ago, 

'Twas  covered  o'er  with  dust,  and  our  mother  used  to  say 

'Twas  an  old  family  relic  of  our  grandmother's  day." 

How  the  spinning  wheel  would  creak 

As  if  it  tried  to  speak, 

Recalling  tender  memories  of  yore; 

How  back  in  other  years 

Her  eyes  would  fill  with  tears 

As  she  heard  the  hum  upon  the  attic  floor. 

Creak,  creak,  how  it  would  creak 

When  up  to  the  attic  we'd  steal, 

But  mother  would  say: 
"Boys,  come  away 
From  grandmother's  old  spinning  wheel." 

Do  you  remember  the  cobwebs  that  clung 
To  the  old  oaken  beams  in  the  house  we  were  born, 
And  there  from  the  rafters  how  memory  brings 
Back  the  sage  and  catnip  and  the  dried  apple  strings. 

But  ah!  no  other  joys 

Compared,  when  we  were  boys, 
When  we  played  upon  the  dear  old  attic  floor. 

To  slowly  turn  the  wheel — 

And  the  spindle  and  the  reel 
Would  sing  the  dear  old  song  it  sang  of  yore. 

Creak,  creak,  how  it  would  creak, 

When  up  to  the  attic  we'd  steal. 

But  mother  would  say: 

•'Boys  come  away 
From  grandmother's  old  spinning  wheel." 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  CROW 

There  was  an  old  owl 

With  eyes  big  and  bright, 
Who  sung  in  a  tree-top 

One  calm  summer  night. 
And  the  song  that  he  sung 

I  will  now  sing  to  you — 
"To  whit!     To  whoo,  hoo! 

To  whit!     To  whoo,  hoo!" 

He  sang  there  all  night 

Till  early  next  morn, 
When  a  crow  came  along 

That  was  looking  for  corn. 
The  crow  heard  him  singing 

"To  whit!     To  whoo,  hoo!" 
And  offered  to  sing 

A  few  notes  that  he  knew. 

Just  then  the  old  owl- 

In  the  tree-top  so  high, 
With  his  classical  shape 

And  his  big  staring  eye, 
Requested  the  crow, 

In  the  deepest  of  scorn, 
To  sing  his  old  chestnut 

About  stealing  corn. 

82 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  CROW  83 

"Caw!     Caw!"  said  the  crow, 

"Well — my  deeds  are  by  light. 
I  don't  steal  young  chickens 

And  sit  up  all  night, 
With  dew  on  my  feathers; 

When  I  break  the  laws 
In  looking  through  corn-fields 

It's  not  without  caws." 


DE  CLOUDS  AM  GWINE  TER  PASS 

De  wedder's  mighty  wauni. 

An'  I  gase  it'sgwine  ter  statin i. 
Doan  yo'  see  de  swaller  flyin'  to  de  thatch? 

Black  clouds  a  sweepin'  by, 

Jes'  a  skimmin'  long  de  sky, 
Dar's  a  hustlin'  in  de  huckleberry  patch. 

Dar's  Zeke  and  Hezekiah, 

Jane  Ann  an'  ole  Maria, 
Mighty  skeery  when  dey  see  de  lightnin'  flash. 

How  dey  hustle  to  de  cabin, 

"\Yhar  ole  Dinah  am  a  blabbin' 
An  de  hoe  cake  am  a  bakin'  in  de  ash. 

I  tole  yo'  kase  I  know, 

Jes'  what  make  it  thundah  so, 

Dat's  de  way  Gord  shake  de  rain  out  ob  de  skv; 
An'  when  yo'  hyar  de  soun' 
Like  a  shubbin"  tables  roun' 

Yo'  can  see  de  pigs  a  runnin'  to  de  sty. 

But  de  clouds  am  gwine  ter  pass, 
An'  de  sun  shine  out  at  las', 

While  de  picaninnies  play  aroun'  de  do' 
An'  froo  de  windah  blinds, 
Hid  by  inornin'  glory  vines, 

Hit's  er  gwine  to  flicker  down  upon  de  flo' 


/>/•:  ci.or/)s  AM  <v//v.\7:  TI-:K  PASS 

(kml  moves  in  many  a  way, 

So  de  ole  Bible  say, 
I'o1  he  counts  de  drops  and  all  de  grains  ob  san'; 

An'  when  de  darkness  falls 

Ton  dese  hyar  cabin  walls 
Flit  am  jes'  de  break  ob  day  in  nddah  lands. 

1  )en  hnrrv.  chillun,  hustle  while  you  ina\  , 
Kase  vo'  know  dar's  gwine  ter  come  a  rainv  day, 

Rnt  de  gloomerin'  will  pass, 

An'  de  sun  shine  ont  at  las'. 
And  dc  darkies  clouds  ob  sorrer  pass  away, 


A  SUMMER'S  AFTERNOON. 

'Twas  the  close  of  a  summer's  da}7, 
The  sound  of  the  flail  had  died  away, 
The  sun  was  shedding  a  lingering  gleam 
And  the  tea-kettle  sung  with  its  load  of  steam. 
The  old  clock  ticked  that  hung  on  the  wall 
And  struck  'ith  the  same  old  cuckoo  call; 
Then  oft  I  could  hear  the  mournful  bay 
Of  some  watch -dog  far  away. 
Then  all  ter  onct  piped  in  a  jay. 
I  just  sot  there  with  my  senses  gone 
And  the  shadders  of  twilight  a  creepin'  on, 
With  the  eerie  hum  of  the  small  pee-wees, 
Over  there  in  the  cedar  trees, 
And  the  tinkle  of  bells  in  the  marshy  loam 
'At  told  me  the  cows  were  coming  home, 
And  the  sighing  breeze  came  o'er  the  croft 
But  ah!  comes  a  melody  far  more  soft 
Than  the  troubled  notes  of  a  lydian  lute 
Or  the  echoing  strains  of  a  fairy's  flute; 
It  bids  me  awaken  and  live  and  rejoice, 
'Tis  only  the  sound  of  Elviry's  voice — 
Like  an  angel's  whisper  it  comes  to  me: — 
'Wake  up,  you  fool,  and  come  to  tea." 
An'  it  ain't  in  the  spring  er  it  ain't  in  the  fall, 
But  the  close  of  a  summer's  day, 

That's  all. 


86 


i   FED  THE  FISHES 

One  day  a  big  excursion  sailed  afar  out  in  the  lake 
All  bent  upon  an  outing  with  their  sandwiches  and  cake. 
They  sought  the  upper  deck  until  the  wind  began  to  blow, 
When  all  engaged  in  different  things  as  every  one  must  know; 

While  I  fed  the  fishes, 

I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

Good  Capt.  Stines  went  up  on  deck  to  cast  his  weather  eye; 
A  woman  sadly,  badly  prayed — "Oh,  Father,  let  me  die!" 
The  cabin-boys  ran  back  and  forth  in  staterooms  all  around, 
While  voices  shrieked:  "Oh,  mercy — oop!  Oh — oop!  wish  I  were 
drowned." 

But  I  fed  the  fishes, 

I  gave  them  my  best  wishes — 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

The  pilot  boldly  held  the  wheel  as  through  the  waves  we  sped, 
While  Purser  Hancock  ran  abaft  to  hold  some  woman's  head, 
One    fellow   sat    him    down   and   sang:   "Goodbye,  sweetheart, 

goodbye;" 
Most  every  one  seemed  occupied  and,  sad  to  say,  then  I — 

I  fed  the  fishes, 

I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

The  "Chicora"  rose  up  in  the  air  and  then  came  down  "ker- 

sock ; ' ' 

She  wibble-wobbled  in  the  sea  and  once  she  struck  a  rock: 
The  purser  wore  a  pallid  look,  the  women  all  turned  pale, 
While  calmly  I  sat  out  on  deck  and  hung  over  the  rail. 

For  I  fed  the  fishes, 

I  gave  them  my  best  wishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 


ss  /  /••/•:/>  Tin-:  n si  IKS 

Some  trier!  to  eat  their  sandwiches,  some  staggered,  reeled  and 

laughed, 
While  others  went  below  to  smile,    and  there    the    brown    ale 

quaffed. 

The  steward,  Richard  Waters,  rushed  about  with  whiskey  slings; 
Most  even-one  seemed  occupied  and  all  did  different  things. 
IStit  I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 


OLE   BOSSIE  COW 

Po'  ole  bossie  cow's  down  in  <le  marsh, 
Down  in  de  marsh  where  de  col'  winds  am  blowin', 
Eb'ry  now  an'  den  when  de  staum  dies  away 
Seems  if  I  hyard  ole  bossie  cow  a  lowin'. 

So  out  by  <\e  cabin  do'  I  stan'  on  de  sweep, 

An'  listen  in  de  win'  an'  dampniif  weddah, 

An't  pears  dat  I  hear  ole  bossie  cow  agin, 

An'  1  low  dat  she  say — "Come  down  in  de  meddah.' 

Den  down  iroo  de  marsh  land  trampin'  along, 
Down  froo  de  gloom  an'  de  night  rains  a-fallin', 
Pirkin'  my  way  through  the  whisperin'  reeds, 
"Co-boss,  co-boss,  co-boss"  a-callin'. 

Den  all  ob  a  sudden  I  come  to  a  stop. 

An'  dar  ole  bossie  cow  so  gentle  an'  so  kyind  ; 

An'  I  coax  up  ole  brindle,  an'  I  lead  her  by  de  ho'n 

A  wee  little  bossie  cow  comes  follerin'  on  behin', 

A  wee  little  bossie  comes  follerin'  on  behin'. 


THAT  CAT 

The  cat  that  conies  to  my  window  sill 
When  the  moon  looks  cold  and  the  night  is  still- 
He  comes  in  a  frenzied  state  alone 
With  a  tail  that  stands  like  a  pine  tree  cone 
And  says  :   "I  have  finished  my  evening  lark 
And  I  think  I  can  hear  a  hound  dog  bark. 
My  whiskers  are  froze  'nd  stuck  to  my  chin. 
I  do  wish  you'd  git  up  and  let  me  in." 
That  cat  gits  in. 

But  if  in  the  solitude  of  the  night 
He  doesn't  appear  to  be  feeling  right. 
And  rises  and  stretches  and  seeks  the  floor 
And  some  remote  corner  he  would  explore, 
And  doesn't  feel  satisfied  just  because 
There's  no  good  spot  for  to  sharpen  his  claws, 
And  meows  and  canters  uneasv  about, 
Beyond  the  least  shadow  of  an}-  doubt 
That  cat  gits  out. 


•• 


A  FROG'S   THANKSGIVING 

I'm  a  frog  with  a  shanty  built  over  each  eye 
And  a  terrible  push  when  I  get  on  a  hump, 
There's  very  few  reptiles  that's  one-half  so  spry 
Or  can  come  up  along  side  o'  me  on  the  jump. 

I'm  a  frog  when  the  other  birds  take  to  the  wing 
And  wander  away  beneath  balmier  skies, 
I  belong  to  the  bloated  bachtracian  ring 
With  a  pneumatic  palate  for  coaxing  in  flies. 

I'm  a  frog  in  the  fall  and  a  frog  when  the  frost 
Spreads  over  the  land,  and  the  forests  are  gray. 
I'm  a  frog  keepin'  house  at  a  very  small  cost 
In  a  dug-out  I've  built  out  o'  cat  tails  and  clay. 

I'm  a  frog  with  a  green  overcoat  and  a  voice 
That  tickles  the  woods,  when  the  winter's  no  more. 
The  old  folks  are  glad  and  children  rejoice, 
At  the  first  tap  o'  thunder.  I  let  out  a  roar, 

I'm  a  frog  living  down  in  the  lush  of  the  swale 
You  all  know  my  voice  when  I'm  looting  for  game 
They  call  me  a  cannibal  :  What  a  sad  tale. 
Well,  may  be  I  am  ;  I'm  a  frogjust  the  same. 


LOVEY-LOVES 

( )li,  love,  let  us  love  with  a  love  that  loves, 

Loving  on  with  a  love  forever  ; 
For  a  love  that  loves  not  the  love  it  should  love — 

1  wot  such  a  love  will  sever. 
Hut,  when  two  loves  love  this  lovable  love. 

Love  loves  with  a  love  that  is  best  ; 
And  this  love-loving,  lovable,  love-lasting  love 

Loves  on  in  pure  love's  loveliness. 

( )h.  chide  not  the  love  when  its  lovey-love  loves 

With  lovable,  loving  caresses  ; 
For  one  feels  that  the  lovingest  love  love  can  love. 

Loves  on  in  love's  own  lovelinesses. 
And  love,  when  it  does  love,  in  secret  should  love — 

'Tis  there  where  love  most  is  admired  ; 
Hut  the  two  lovey-loves  that  don't  care  where  they  love 

Make  the  public  most  mightily  tired. 


HANK    SPINK 

Hank  Spink  he  said — er  Bol)  did,  his  brother — 
'At  he  hit  a  man  once  fer  somepin  or  other, 
An'  after  he  hit  'iin — I  got  this  from  Bob — 
He  simply  went  right  out  an'  give  up  his  job  ; 
Not  Hank  er  Bob, 

Hut  the  feller  'at  got  hit 
Give  us  his  job. 

See? 

He  said  'at  the  wind,  er  the  force  of  his  blow, 
Ivr  somepin  like  that ;  somehow — I  don't  know 
Just  now  what  it  was — I  got  it  from  Bob 
'At  he  got  a  good  swat  ;   not  Hunk  er  Bob, 
By  a   long  shot. 

But  the  feller  'at  got  hit 
(iot  a  good  swat. 

See  ? 

He  said  he'd  be  blamed,  'at  he  didn't  know 
How  he  came  to  strike  such  an  all-fired  blow, 
'Cept  he  guarded  his  right  an'  threw  the  hull  heft 
Of  his  weight  an'  his  science,  an'  hit  with  his  left  ; 
That  lost  'iin  his  job;     not  Hank  er  Hob, 

But  the  feller  'at  got  hit 
I.ost  him  his  job. 

See  ? 


THE  NILE 

Not  a  single  cloud  bedims  the  sky, 

Not  a  shadow  falls  below, 
But  crocodiles  creep,  enfeebled  by  heat 

Through  the  lotus  flowers  that  grow 
On  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  the  placid  Nile, 

The  Nile  of  ages  ago. 

So  sluggish  and  wan  it  wanders  on 

Where  the  citron  and  dhouni  palms  grow. 

Where  Sphinxes  stare,  through  the  lurid  air, 
At  the  sun  in  its  molten  glow  ; 

That's  called  the  Nile,  the  tranquil  Nile 
Of  ages  and  ages  ago. 

On  the  purple  sheen  of  its  mirror  heart 

Her  galleys  bend  and  row, 
And  Egypt's  queen  can  still  be  seen, 

Of  olden  lands  the  foe. 
Ah  !  this  was  the  Nile,  the  ancient  Nile, 

The  Nile  of  the  long  ago. 

By  the  ashen  banks  of  the  ancient  stream 

The  acacia  tree  bends  low, 
The  ibis  stands  in  this  tomb  of  lands, 

As  if  in  a  pallor  of  woe, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  the  sacred  Nile, 

The  Nile  of  ages  ago. 


LIKE  DE  OLE  MULE  BES' 

Some  folks  is  so't  o'  pa'shal  to  de  cattle  roun'  de  fa'm, 
Ter  make  a  pet  ob  animals  dey  find  hit  so't  ob  balm, 
While  odders  'fer  de  poultry  stock  ;  de  goose,  en  duck,  en  hen 
Is  often  made  de  mos'  ob  by  de  wisess  kind  ob  men. 
Some  like  de  brindle  mooley  cow  'nd  'low  dey  hab  de  sense 
Ter  pear  ter  know  dere  niassa  we'n  dey  see  'im  at  de  fence. 
Some  like  the  yearlin'  colt  ;  I've  raly  seed  men  stand  aroun' 
An'  pet  a  hoss  all  day  'nd  rub  his  legs  en  fetlocks  down  ; 
But  gibbin  all  de  animals  de  faires'  kind  ob  tes' 
I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 

Some  pet  de  mockin'  bird  en  robin  redbress'  an'  de  linnit  ; 
Some  like  de  gobler  kase  he's  struttin'  roun'  mos'  ebery  minute. 
Some  like  de  peacock  fo'  his  pride,  an'  den  some  like  de  dog, 
Whilst  odders  fo'  companionship  have  prefunce  fo'  de  hog. 
Some  fa'mers  like  de  wedder  sheep,  en  some  de  little  lam', 
De  billy-goat,  an'  nanny-goat,  whilst  odders  'fer  de  ram. 
Some  likede  little  week-ol'  calf  w'en  buntin  roun'  hits  mudder 
An'    some   folks  dey  like  one  thing  an'  den  some  folks  like 

anudder  ; 

But  'fall  de  stock  I'se  raised  wid  in  de  Souf,  erEas'  er  Wes' 
I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 

Bars  sompin'  meekly  'bout  'im,  hits  de  fac'  he  isn't  bold 
An'  de  spression  on  'is  face  is  like  de  holy  saints  ob  old  ; 
When  he  sort  o'  histe  'is  heel  up  like  's  gwine  ter  hit  de  sky 
He's  simply  exahcisin'  jes  ter  pestervate  a  fly. 
An'  de  why  he  'pears  embarrass'd  is  kase  nature  had  ter  fail 
An'  made  'im  sort  o'  long  on  ears,  en  kind  o'  short  on  tail  ; 
But  den  he's  mo  den'  'tatched  ter  me,  and  know  I  is  his  frien' 
An'  we  done  made  up  our  mind  ter  stick  tergedder  ter  de  end; 
So  dars  no  use  ob  yo'  axin'  me,  yo's  done  had  time  ter  guess 
I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 


96  LIKE  DE  OLE  MULE  BES 

I  used  ter  like  Lucindy,  but  den  'Cindy  couldn't  stay, 
An'  little  Sim,  I  worshipped  so,  de  angels  coaxed  away. 
An'  Lize  Anne,  an'  br'er  Zeph  dere  up  dar  on  de  hill, 
I  pa'shley  think  I  hear  'em,  too,  w'en  all  aroun'  is  still  ; 
Yo'  see  Ise  mo'  den  lonesome  heah,  wid  nobody  ter  talk, 
Er  hide  behin'  de  lilac  trees  adown  de  garden  walk, 
Dat  w'en  I  look  at  dat  ole  mule  I  feel  so  full  ob  woe 
'Bout  little  Sim  'at  rode  on  'im,  an  'taint  so  long  ago, 
Ob  all  de  frien's  dat's  lef  me  now,  I  'raly  mus"  confess 
I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 


DE  RIBBER  OB  LIFE 

I  dreamt  dat  I  saw  de  ribber  ob  life 

Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 
De  angels  war  wadin'  to  an'  fro 

But  none  ob  'em  spoke  to  me. 
Some  dipped  dere  wings  in  de  silb'ry  tide 
Some  war  alone  an'  some  side  by  side. 
Nary  a  one  dat  I  knew  could  I  see 
In  dat  ribber  ob  life. 
De  ribber  ob  life 

Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 

De  ribber  was  wide,  dat  ribber  ob  life. 

De  bottom  I  plainly  could  see. 
De  stones  layin'  dar  was  whiter  dan  snow. 

De  sands  looked  like  gold  to  me. 
But  angels  kep'  wadin'  to  and  fro  ; 
Whar  did  dey  come  from  ? 
Whar  did  dey  go  ? 

None  ob  'em  sinnahs  like  me,  I  kno' 
In  dat  ribber  ob  life, 
De  ribber  ob  life, 

Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 

97 


98  DE  RIBBER  OB  LIFE 

De  watah  was  clear  as  de  "well  by  de  gate, 

Whar  Jesus  de  light  first  see. 
De  sofes'  ob  music  Porn  angel  bands 
Come  ober  dat  ribber  ob  golden  sands, 

Come  ober  dat  ribber  to  me. 
An'  den  I  saw  de  clouds  break  away, 
Revealin'  de  pearly  gates  ob  day. 
De  beautiful  day  dat  nebber  shall  cease, 
Where  all  is  joy,  an'  lub,  an'  peace. 
And  ovah  dem  gates  was  written  so  clear  : 
'   Peace  to  all  who  entah  here." 
De  angels  was  gedderin'  roun'  de  frone, 
De  gates  done  closed,  I  was  lef  alone, 
Alone  on  de  banks  ob  a  darkenin'  stream, 
But  when  I  awoke  I  foun'  'twas  a  dream. 

Ise  gwine  to  ford  dat  ribber  ob  life 

An'  see  de  eternal  day. 
Ise  gwine  to  hear  dem  heavenly  bands, 
An'  feel  de  tech  of  ole-time  hands 

Dat  long  hab  passed  away. 
Dars  crowns  ob  glory  for  all  I'm  told, 
An'  lubly  harps  wid  strings  ob  gold. 
An'  I  know  ef  dars  peace  beyond  dat  sea, 
Wid  res'  fo'  de  weary,  dars  res'  fo'  me — 
Beyond  dat  ribber,  dat  ribber  ob  life, 

Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 


THE  CAT   O'  NINE  TAILS 

The  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  is  coniin'  round  agin, 

And  the  way  he  worries  children  sometimes  is  a  sin  ; 

He  grabs  'em  by  the  collar,  an'  he  yanks  em  by  the  clothes, 

And  reaches  for  a  tender  place.    \Vhy;  what  do  you  suppose 

Will  happen  if  you're  impident  an'  set  around  an'  grin  ? 

Well,  I'll  have  to  call  the  cat  o'  nine  tails  in — 

Have  to  call  him  in  ;  yes,  have  to  call  him  in  ; 

in. 
tails 

cat  o'  nine 
old 

I'll  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in. 
old 

cat  o'  nine 

tails 


Are  you  sassy  to  yer  father,  are  you  fibbin'  to  yer  mother  ? 
Are  you  quarrelin'  with  yer   sister   an'    a   pinchin'    of  yer 

brother, 

Do  you  "ring  around  the  rosey"  till  you  have  a  dizzy  feelin', 
And  you  think  yer  goin'  roun'  an'  ronri  an'  walkin'  on  the 

ceilin'  ? 

Well,  you  better  stop  yer  screechin'  an'  a-makin'  such  a  din, 
Er  I'll  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in — 
Have  to  call  him  in  ;  yes,  have  to  call  him  in  ; 

in. 
tails 

cat  o'  nine 
old 

I'll  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in. 
old 

cat  o'  nine 

tails 
in. 

99 


THE  CA  T  O'  NINE  TAILS 

Do  you  allers  mind  your  manners  when  company  is  come  ? 
Er  do  you  git  up-stairs  'nd  yell,  'nd  stomp  around  'nd  drum? 
Do  you  show  off  at  the  table,  too,  'nd  try  to  act  up  smart, 
'Nd  p'intyer  finger  at  the  things  'ndsay  :   "Gimme  a  tart?" 
If  someone  doesn't  dress  you  down  I  think  it  is  a  sin  ; 
So  I'll  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in — 
Have  to  call  Mm  in  ;  yes,  have  to  call  Mm  in  ; 

in. 
tails 

cat  o'  nine 
old 

I'll  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in. 
old 

cat  o'  nine 

tails 
in. 


THE  HAIR-TONIC    BOTTLE 

How  dear  to  my  heart  is  the  old  village  drug  store, 

When  tired  and  thirsty  it  conies  to  my  view. 
The  wide  spreading  sign  that  asks  you  to  "Try  it," 

Vim,  Vaseline,  Vermifuge,  Hop  Bitters,  too. 
The  old  rusty  stove  and  the  cuspidore  by  it, 

That  little  back  room,    Oh  !  you've  been  there  yourself 
And  oft-times  have  gone  for  the  doctor's  prescription, 

But  tackled  the  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 
The  friendly  old  bottle, 
The  plain-labeled  bottle, 
The  "  Hair-Tonic  "  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 

How  oft  have  I  seized  it  with  hands  that  were  glowing, 

And  guzzled  awhile  ere  I  set  off  for  home  ; 
I  owned  the  whole  earth  all  that  night,  but  next  morning 

My  head  felt  as  big  as  the  Capitol's  dome. 
And  then  how  I  hurried  away  to  receive  it, 

The  druggist  would  smile  o'er  his  poisonous  pelf, 
And  laugh  as  he  poured  out  his  unlicensed  bitters. 

And  filled  up  the  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 
The  unlicensed  bottle, 
The  plain-labeled  bottle, 
That  "Hair-Tonic  "  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 


DE  CIRCUS  TURKEY 

He's  de  worst  I  evah  see, 

Dat  old  turkey  up'n  de  tree, 
I  bin  pesta'n  him  'n  punchin'  him  saince  mohnin', 

I  nev"  saince  I  was  bo'n 

See  de  way  he  do  stick  on, 
En  he  pears  to  look  down  at  me  's  if  he  scornin'. 

He  doesn't  seem  to  'pear 

Ter  hab  a  bit  ob  fear, 
Kase  Ise  wasted  all  niah  strength  'n  bref  upon  'im. 

It  may  be  he's  in  fun, 

But  I'll  scah  'im  wid  dis  gun, 
Ise  boun'  ter  git  'im  down  some  way,  dog  on  'im. 

Ise  fro'd  mos'  all  de  sticks 

In  de  yard,  'n  all  de  bricks, 
Ef  yo'  was  me  whut  under  d'  sun  'ud  yo'  do? 

He  doesn'  seem  ter  change, 

'N  'pears  ter  act  so  strange, 
I  d'clar  he  in  us'  be  pestah'd  wid  a  hoodoo. 

I  tale  yo'  hits  er  fac' 

I  nearly  broke  mall  back 
Er  histin'  shoes  'n  brick-bats  up  dar  to  'im 

'Pon  dis  Tanksgibbin'  day. 

•I  hate  ter  shoot,  but  say — 
I  bleebe  a  gun's  de  only  thing  '11  do  'im. 

I  'low  I'll  make  'im  think 

He  kaint  gib  me  de  wink 
An'  sait  up  on  dat  limb  en  be  secuah. 

Biff! — !     Bang! — !     I'll  make 'im  sing  ; 

Mali  goodness,  watch  im  swing. 
W'v  he's  a  reg'lah  circus  turkey,  suah. 


DE  CIRCUS  TURKEY 

Hi  see  de  hull  thing  now — 

Dat  Rasmus  boy,  I  'low, 
Has  done  gone  tied  'is  feet  up  dar  wid  strings. 

No  wondah  dat  he  tried 

Ter  come  off ;  he  was  tied 
'N  all  what  he  could  do  was  flap  'is  wings. 

Come  hyar  yo'  Rasmus,  qtiick,  sah  ; 

Ise  min'ter  use  dis  stick,  sah  ! 
Come  hyar,  from  ovah  dar,  from  whar  yo'  stood. 

I  low  I  ought  to  lay  yo' 

Down  on  dat  groun'  en  flay  yo', 
Ise  tempted  mos'  ter  use  a  stick  o'  wood. 

Yo'  kaint  go  to  de  meetin', 

An"  w'en  it  comes  ter  eatin' 
Yo'  mudder  sais  yo'  kaint  come  to  de  table. 

I  bet  you'll  sing  er  tune, 

Kase  all  dis  aftahnoon 
We's  'cided  dat  we'll  lock  yo'  in  de  stable. 

Yo'  kaint  hab  none  de  white  meat, 
An'  yo'  kaint  hab  none  de  brown  meat, 

An'  yo'  jes  hearn  whut  yer  po'  ole  mudder  sade  ; 
Yo'  kaint  hab  none  de  stuffin' 
Er  de  cranber'  sauce  er  nuffin', 

An'  'cisely  at  6  o'clock  yo'  go  ter  baid. 


103 


SOF1E  JAKOBOWSKI 

Little  Sofie  Jakobowski, 
Handsome  as  a  forest  flower, 
Dwelt  alone  with  Gokstad  Pfouski 
Ivan  Ruric  Romano wski, 
In  the  palace  of  the  tower, 
Of  the  ancient  tower  of  Ivan, 
Dwelt  she  in  the  long  ago, 
Near  by  where  the  frozen  Volga 
Sleeps  beneath  its  weight  of  snow. 

Now,  it  seems  old  Gokstad  Pfouski 

Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski 

Had  a  passion  for  the  maid, 

And  was  very  much  afraid 

That  perhaps  she  might  get  frisky — 

Fall  in  love  with  John  Zobiesky  ; 

So  he  locked  her  in  the  tower 

Oft  for  many  a  weary  hour. 

He,  the  old  decrepit  sinner, 

Kept  her  locked  up  growing  thinner, 

Many  a  week  and  month  she  staid 

In  that  tower,  and  often  laid 

Down  to  rest  upon  the  cold 

Marble  floor,  so  I  am  told 

By  an  old  Slavonic  story 

That  is  gray  and  bald  and  hoary  ; 

'Tis  a  legend  that's  so  weird 

Soft  winds  gently  comb  its  beard. 


SOFIE  JAKOBO  WSKI  105 

Little  Sofie  Jakobowski 
Was  the  fairest  of  the  fair  ; 
Eyes  that  seemed  half  way  confessing, 
Yet  would  keep  you  coldly  guessing, 
Hair  that  in  each  wavy  fold 
Tales  of  witchery  unrolled— 
Being  that  old  Angelo 
Traced  in  cloisters  long  ago  ; 
L,ips,  those  liquid  lips  whose  dew 
Is  tinctured  with  the  rose's  hue  ; 
Cheeks  afire  with  the  glow 
Of  maidenhood  ;  a  neck  of  snow, 
Hoping,  grieving,  sighing,  praying 
For  her  lover,  disobeying 
When  she  dared  old  Gokstad  Pfouski 
Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski, 
Even  hoping  to  the  end 
For  her  little  Polish  friend. 
Now,  it  might  be  said  if  any 
Maid  had  lovers  she  had  many  ; 
Old  traditions  name  a  score. 
Put  perhaps  a  dozen  more 
On  the  little  maiden's  list, 
For  her  charms  who  could  resist  ? 
She  could  bring  them  from  Siberia, 
Hindostan,  or  far-oft  Syria, 
From  the  Deutscher  Zuyder  Zee 
To  the  rat-rice-fed  Chinee. 
There  was  little  Moses  Khan 
From  the  village  of  Kasan, 
Vadlimir,  and  Max  Pulaski, 
Peter  Ulrich,  and  Hydrasky, 
Isaac  Ozam  of  Torique, 
One  Jim  Bogado,  a  Greek, 
And  a  soldier,  Peter  Hensky, 
Of  the  noted  Prebojens-ki  ; 
Kutusoff  and  Fedorovitch, 


106  SOFIE  JAKOBO  U'SR'I 

Little  No  Account  von  Storitch, 

Seizendorf,  and  Jake  Zebatzki, 

Romanoff  and  Ruffonratzsky, 

This  is  but  the  half  of  them — 

Herr  von  Freitag  Stobelpem, 

And  a  Jew  that  sent  her  Rhine  wine, 

Moses  Aaron  Eiffel  Einstein  ; 

He  from  Hong  Kong,  Sam  Wing  L,ee, 

Drinkee  Alice  Samee  Tea  ; 

Isawwiskey  and  Tschenhnsky, 

Waronetski  and  Chewbimsky, 

And  two  nase  a  yentlemen, 

Yohn  and  Ole  Petersen. 

She  could  bring  them,  I  presume, 
From  the  far-off  land  of  doom, 
Each  with  one  intent  to  woo  her, 
Ardent,  doing  homage  to  her, 
Sending  presents  from  Australia, 
Nuggets  from  the  Himalaya 
Mountains,  rings  and  souvenirs 
Enough  to  last  a  hundred  years  ; 
Arrows  almost  every  hour 
Carried  presents  to  the  tower. 
Don't  you  think  it  quite  a  sin 
They  had  to  shoot  their  presents  in  ? 
Think  of  how  a  despot's  power 
Kept  her  locked  up  in  a  towTer. 
She  the  fairest  little  maiden 
Dwelling  on  this  side  of  Aiden  ; 
Wouldn't  any  lover  plunge  in 
To  the  deepest  Russian  dungeon, 
Or  become  a  serf  and  work 
Out  his  life  at  Nedjikerk 
To  kidnap  from  yonder  tower 
That  sweet  little  Russian  flower  ? 
So  I  would,  so  did  the  frisky 
Nihilist,  young  John  Zobiesky 


SOFIE  JAKOBO  WSKI  107 

Now  the  father  of  Zobiesky 
Manufactured  awful  whisky, 
But  young  John  took  more  delight 
In  making  bombs  and  dynamite, 
And  he  entertained  the  Russians 
With  a  series  of  concussions 
Till  they  wanted  him  so  bad 
That  it  made  all  Russia  sad. 
Once  I  think  he  came  not  far 
From  blowing  up  "the  only"  czar, 
But  he  had  a  most  surprising 
Way  of  hiding  and  disguising — 
Never  man  as  yet  had  found  him, 
Never  army  could  surround  him. 
Probably  he  had  a  mascot — 
Born  a  regular  Russian  Tascott. 
John  Zobiesky  seemed  contented 
When  he  had  them  all  fermented 
'Round  the  palace.     Near  the  gate 
Cossack  soldiers  stood  up  straight, 
Guarding  with  their  guns  and  sabers 
One  another  from  their  neighbors  ; 
Over  there  one  can't  resist 
The  thought  to  praise  the  nihilist. 
Every  day  and  every  hour 
You  feel  the  despot's  potent  power  ; 
Every  day  you  want  to  shoot 
Some  old  potentate  and  scoot, 
So  with  John.     One  day  he  saw 
Another  way  to  break  the  law, 
Listen  !    John  was  discontented, 
And  his  smart  brain  soon  invented 
With  saltpeter  and  corrosives 
Something  awful  in  explosives. 
Then  with  heart  chock  full,  elated, 
Little  John  sat  down  and  waited — 
Waited  for  the  sombre  curtain 


io8  SOFIE  JAKOBO  WSKI 

Of  the  night  to  make  him  certain 

That  he  might  not  be  discovered 

Or  his  hellish  plans  uncovered, 

Waited  till  a  cloudy  pall 

Hung  its  mantel  over  all, 

And  Stygian  darkness  reigning  far 

Hid  each  peeping,  tell-tale  star, 

That  lately  had  begun  to  nod 

From  Omsk  to  Nijni-Novgorod. 

Then  he  stole  up  to  that  tower, 

Just  beneath  his  lady's  bower. 

Fearlessly  he  placed  enough 

Of  that  paralyzing  stuff 

In  the  chinks  and  the  foundation 

Of  that  tower  to  blast  a  nation. 

Then  he  sat  him  down  and  wrote 

Forty  letters — make  a  note. 

He  wrote  forty,  understand, 

Wrote  them  in  a  woman's  hand. 

"I  love  only — only  you  ; 

Come  tonight,  sweet  love.     Adieu  !  " 

Signing  with  a  heart  aflame, 

Sofie  Jakobowski's  name. 

One  dark  night  when  all  was  still 
On  frosty  turrent,  dome  and  hill, 
Forty  suitors  came  in  season, 
Knocked,  and — I  don't  know  the  reason- 
Walked  right  in  the  door  ;  it  swung 
Open,  then  it  closed  and  sprung ; 
Every  lover  seemed  to  fare 
The  same,  for  they  were  prisoners  there. 
They  were  in  beyond  a  doubt, 
With  no  chance  of  getting  out, 
Now  the  risky  John  Zobiesky 
Had  the  Cossacks  drunk  on  whisky, 
And  the  guards  with  their  long  sabers, 
Rested  sweetly  from  their  labors. 


SOFIE  JAKOBO  WSKI  109 

Sofie  Jakobowski,  frisky 

Looked  down  on  her  John  Zobiesky  ; 

John  Zobiesky  gazed  at  Sofie 

And  he  longed  to  gain  the  trophy. 

Sofie,  up  there  in  the  casement 

Throwing  kisses  towards  the  basement — 

John  Zobiesky  at  the  basement 

Hurling  kisses  to  the  casement. 

But  he  has  no  time  to  lose  ; 

Fixing  up  the  deadly  fuse, 

Now  he  hurls  a  line  up  till 

It  reaches  Sofie's  window  sill. 

Scarcely  had  she  made  it  fast 

When  the  maiden  stood  aghast ! 

Startled  at  what  stood  before  her — 

John  Zobiesky,  her  adorer. 

Don't  get  anxious  ;  I  must  own 

John  and  Sofie  were  alone. 

And  I  know  a  Russian  kiss 

Is  not  such  hard-frozen  bliss. 

'Twas  the  first  in  years  that  they 

Had  thus  embraced — the  time  that  way — 

So  they  occupied  the  present 

Till  the  night  had  grown  senescent  ; 

And  they  wondered  oft  how  fared 

The  lovers  down  below  that  shared 

The  palace  of  old  Gokstad  Pfouski 

Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski. 

•'Hark  !  "  cried  Sofie,  "  'tis  the  hour 
When  Moscow's  bell  in  yonder  tower 
Peals  a  knell,  and  we  must  fly, 
Or  else  together  we  must  die. 
Ah,  look  through  yonder  gate  I  see 
That  demon — and  he  comes  to  me — 
The  wretch  that  locks  and  keeps  me  here 
From  month  to  month  and  year  to  year. 


1 10  SOFIE  JAKOBO  WSKI 

Up  jumps  the  risky  little  frisky 

Nihilist,  young  John  Zobiesky. 

A  kiss  upon  her  lips,  his  hand 

Upon  his  breast  as  if  to  brand 

His  vow  :  "You  say  'he  conies  to  me  ; ' 

You  cry  :  '  He  comes  !  He  comes  !  To  thee 

I  swear  by  yonder  moonlit  snow 

He  conies  !'  Just  watch  and  see  him  go." 

Then  with  Sofie  on  his  shoulder — 

Never  fear  that  he  can't  hold  her — 

Through  the  window  down  the  rope, 

The  nihilist  and  maid  elope. 

Not  a  moment  do  they  lose 

Save  to  stop  and  light  the  fuse. 

Slowly  on  its  path  it  crawls 

Toward  the  gray  old  castle  walls, 

Past  the  Cossacks  with  their  sabers, 

Still  at  rest  from  recent  labors, 

And  the  noble  body  guard — 

They  are  snoring  just  as  hard. 

A  flash  !     A  roar !     and  Moscow  rumbles, 

And  the  tower  of  Ivan  tumbles. 

Up  skyhigh  went  Godstad  Pfouski 

Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski, 

Also  little  Moses  Khan 

Of  the  village  of  Kazan  ; 

Vadlimir  and  Max  Pulaski, 

Peter  Ulric,  and  Hydraski  ; 

Isaac  Ozam  of  Torique, 

One  Jim  Bogado,  a  Greek, 

And  a  soldier,  Peter  Henski, 

Of  the  noted  Prebojenski  ; 

Kutuseff  and  Fedorovitch, 

Little  No  Account  von  Stovitch 

Seizendorf  and  Jake  Zebatzski, 

Remanoff  and  Ruffonratzski, 

This  is  but  the  half  of  them. 


SO  FIE  JAKOBO  WSK1 

Herr  von  Freitag  Stobelpem 

And  a  Jew  that  sent  her  Rhine  wine, 

Moses  Aaron  Eiffel  Einstein, 

Drinkee  Allee  Saniee  Tea — 

He  from  Hong  Kong — -Sam  Wing  Lee, 

Isawwiskey  and  Tachenimski, 

Waronetx.sk i  and  Chewbimsky, 

And  two  nase  a  yentleinen, 

Yohn  and  Ole  Petersen. 


The  dim  light  to  the  sou 'ward 

Is  the  beacon  of  the  coast, 
But  the  white  light  to  the  leeward 

The  mariner  loves  most. 
And  whether  'tis  the  dim  light 

Or  the  white  light  to  the  lee, 
That  great  big  hunk  of  daylight 

Is  light  of  lights  for  me. 
But  what  it  is  of  all  lights 

That  fills  mjr  soul  with  glee, 
Is  when  that  hunk  of  daylight 

Climbs  up  out  of  the  sea. 


THE  WOODT1CKS 

There's  things  out  in  the  forest 

That's  worser  'an  'n  owl, 
'At  gets  on  naughty  boys  'n  girls 

'At  allers  wears  a  scowl. 
There's  things  out  in  the  forest 

'At's  worser  'n  a  lion, 
'At  gets  on  wicked  boys  'n  girls 

'At's  cjiiarrelin'  an'  a-cryin'. 
There's  things  out  in  the  forest,  mind. 

An'  if  you  don't  take  care, 
The  wooclticks — the  woodticks— 

Will  be  crawlin'  thro'  yer  hair. 

An'  they  say  as  boys  is  naughty, 

An'  their  hearts  is  full  o'  sin 
They'll  crawl  out  in  the  night  time 

An'  get  underneath  yer  skin, 
An'  the  doctor  '11  have  to  take  a  knife 

An'  cut  'em  off  jes'  so, 
An'  if  a  bit  of  'em  is  left 

Another  one  '11  grow. 
An'  mebbe  you  won't  feel  'em,  too, 

Ivr  ever  know  they're  there, 
But  by  and  by  they'll  multiply 

And  crawl  up  in  yer  hair. 


ii4  THE  WOODTICKS 

The  devil's  darnin'  needle,  too, 

'111  come  and  sew  yer  ear. 
An'  make  a  nest  inside  like  that. 

An'  then  you'll  never  hear  ; 
An'  the  jigger  bugs  gets  on  you, 

An'  the  thousand-legged  worm 
'111  make  you  writhe,  an'  twist,  an'  groan, 

An'  cry,  an'  yell,  an'  squirm  ; 
But  the  worst  things  'at  '11  git  you 

If  you  lie,  or  steal,  or  swear, 
Is  the  woodticks — the  woodticks — 

A  crawlin'  thro'  yer  hair. 


DIDN'T   WE.  JIM? 

Yes,  sir  ;  we  lived  home  till  our  mother  died, 
An'  I'd  go  a-walkin'  with  Jim,  'cause  he  cried, 
Till  night  time  'ud  come,  'nd  we'd  go  up  to  bed 
An*  bofe  say  the  prayers  'at  she  taught  us  ter  said — 
Didn't  we,  Jim  ? 

An'  pa  'ud  stay  late,  an'  we  uster  call, 
'Cause  we  thought  we  heard  'im  down  stairs  in  the  hall 
An'  when  he  come  home  once  he  fell  on  the  floor, 
An'  we  run'd  an'  hid  behind  ma's  bedroom  door — 
Didn't  we,  Jim  ? 

She  told  us,  our  ma  did,  when  she's  sick  in  bed, 
An'  out  of  the  Bible  some  verses  read, 
To  never  touch  wine,  and  some  more  I  can't  think  ; 
Hut  the  last  words  she  said  was  never  to  drink — 
Didn't  she,  Jim  ? 

But  our  other  ma,  what  our  pa  brought  home  there. 
She  whipped  little  Jim  'cause  he  stood  on  a  chair 
An'  kissed  our  ma's  picture  that  hung  on  the  wall, 
An'  struck  me  fer  not  doin'  nothin'  at  all — 
Didn't  she.  Jim  ? 


.\"r  /r7:\  JIMf 

She  said  "at  we  never  had  no  bringin*  up, 
An'  stayed  "round  the  house  an'  eat  everything  up, 
An'  said  'at  we  couldn't  have  no  more  to  eat, 
An'  all  'at  we  's  fit  for  was  out  in  the  street — 
Didn't  she,  Jim  ? 

We  said  'at  we  hated  her,  didn't  we,  Jim  ? 
But  our  pa — well,  we  didn't  say  nothin'  ter  him, 
But  just  took  ma's  picture  and  bofe  run'd  away  ; 
An'  that's  what  Jim's  cryin'  'bout  out  here  today — 
Didn't  we,  ain't  it,  Jim  ? 

Mister,  don't  feel  bad — 'cause  Jim's  cryin' — too  ; 
Fer  we're  goin'  ter  hunt  an'  git  somethin'  ter  do  ; 
'Cause  our  ma  'at  died  said  ter  work  an'  ter  pray, 
An'  we'd  all  be  together  in  glory  some  day — 
Didn't  she,  Jim? 


THE  POST-DRIVER 

The  lingering  loon  flies  over  the  marsh 

And  the  night  bird  nestles  in  dew, 
The  river  is  cold  and  the  winds  are  harsh, 

But  what  is  it  that  goes  cnhchoo  ? 

What  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo,  cuhchoo  ? 

Oh,  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

Then  the  rail  comes  up  from  his  lushy  bed 

And  wings  to  the  realms  of  blue. 
Wild  lilies  soak  where  the  bullfrogs  croak. 

But  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

What  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo,  cuhchoo  ? 

Oh,  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

O'er  the  whispering  reeds  the  rice-hen  speeds, 

And  the  meadow-lark  singing  anew, 
And  I  know  in  the  swail  the  song  of  the  rail, 

But  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

What  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo,  cuhchoo  ? 

Oh,   what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo? 


LhF  Ub   OLh  HObsS  OUT 

'Tween  de  gusts  ob  de  win' 

Conies  a  winner  an'  a  soun' 
Like  de  tranipin'  ob  hoofs  on  decol',  col'  groun'. 

Ise  'spicious  ob  a  stauni. 

An'  dere  ain't  no  doubt 
But  somebody's  gone  an'  lef  de  ole  hoss  out. 

I  'membah  now  de  sheep 

Come  a-runnin'  to  de  shed, 
An'  de  ole  bossie  cow  was  a-standin!  in  'er  bed, 

An'  de  chickens  on  de  roos'; 

But  what  was  I  'bout 
When  I  done  went  to  bed  an'  lef  de  ole  hoss  out? 

Well,  I  mus'n  lay  heah 

An'  hab  de  col'  win's  blow — 
When  de  keyhole  whistles  dar's  gwine  ter  come  snow- 

I  jes*  oughter  'rise 

An'  wandah  right  out, 
An'  cuah  myself  ob  leebin'  de  ole  hoss  out. 

Mali  goodness,  what  er  night ! 

Wondah  what's  dat  soun'  ? 
Dat's  de  ole  hoss,  jes'  coniin'  on  de  boun'. 

Ise  ashame  ob  myse'f ! 

Well,  what  was  I  'bout, 
Ter  go  ter  bed  ter  res'  an'  leebe  de  ole  hoss  out? 


EC-A-LEC-TIC  FITS 

I'm  only  jes'  a  little  chap 

An'  my  ma  says  I'm  frail  ; 
I  got  ec-a-lec-tic  fits, 

'At's  why  I'm  lookin'  pale. 
Once  I  had  a  ague  chill 

An'  oh,  how  I  did  shake 
'Cause  aunty  wouldn't  give  me  any 

Jelly  tarts  an'  cake. 

Once  when  it  was  summer 

Once,  an'  nice  an'  warm,  nen  me 
An"  Jennie  went  in  our  back  yard 

'Nd  climbed  a  cherry  tree. 
An'  she  ate  all  the  cherries,  too, 

An'  fed  me  all  the  pits, 
An'  my  ma  said  'at's  jes'  what  give 
Me  ec-a-lec-tic  fits. 

When  bad  girls  comes  to  our  house 

They  mustn't  scare  me,  too, 
An'  romp  up  quick  against  me 

Like  they's  playin'  peek-a-boo, 
Cause  ma  she'll  say  right  out  to  'em  : 

"  See  here,  now  children,  quit  ! 
I  guess  you'll  have  to  run  right  home 

'Fore  YVadsworth  has  a  fit." 


119 


EC-A-LEC-T/C  FITS 

Sometime  I'll  be  strong  'nd  well 

An'  big  like  Uncle  Dan, 
An'  he'll  be  little  jes'  like  me, 

When  I'm  a  grown-up  man, 
'Nd  nen  I  won't  be  scarin'  people 

Almost  out  their  wits, 
'Cause  'en  I  won't  go  round  a  havin' 

Ec-a-lec-tic  fits. 

When  you  see  me  turnin'  blue 

An'  when  my  hands  gits  cold, 
Don't  you  git  afraid  o'  that. 

But  jes'  you  git  a  hold 
Of  me,  an'  rub  my  hands 

'Nd  rub  my  neck  'nd  head 
Till  I  "come  out" — 'cause  if  you  don't 

I'm  li'ble  to  git  dead. 

I  wouldn't  care  if  I  should  die 

'Nd  go  up  there,  would  you  ? — 
Where  the  sun  is  peekin'   'round 

The  clouds,  up  where  it's  blue  ? 
'Cause  there  they  ain't  no  worry 

An'  they's  lots  o'  little  bits 
Of  fellers,  an'  they's  none  of  'em 

Got  ec-a-lec-tic  fits. 


KEEP  HIM  A  BABY 

Keep  him  a  baby  as  long  as  you  can  ; 
Bless  him,  the  dear  little,  cute,  cunning  man  ! 
Keep  him  in  dresses,  and  apron,  and  bib  ; 
Rock  him  to  sleep  in  his  own  little  crib. 

Keep  him  a  baby  enjoying  his  toys — 
Soon  enough  he  will  be  one  of  the  boys  ; 
Keep  him  a  baby  and  keep  him  at  home — 
Manhood  will  very  soon  cause  him  to  roam. 

Ofttimes  at  night  when  he  wakes  for  a  frolic, 
Don't  get  excited— it's  only  the  colic  ; 
When  he  has  reason  your  slumbers  to  mar, 
Get  up  and  walk  with  him,  just  as  you  are. 

First  it  is  Winslow  and  then  it  is  squills, 
Then  you  will  find  one  or  two  doctor's  bills, 
Though  he's  a  trouble  at  times,  it  is  true, 
When  he  grows  up  he  will  take  care  of  you. 


KEK1>  ///.I/  ./   r.AllY 

Keep  him  a  baby  still  taking  his  nap. 
Don't  you  chastise  him  for  any  mishap  ; 
When  he  falls  off  of  a  sofa  or  chair. 
Don't  stop  his  crying  by  calling  a  bear. 

Keep  him  a  baby  and  do  as  I  say  : 
Take  him  to  ride  in  his  carriage  each  day  ; 
Show  him  the  bossie,  the  horse  and  the  bow-wow 
Soon  you  will  hear  him  say  "moo  !"  to  the  cow. 

Keep  him  a  baby  :  he'll  soon  be  a  boy, 
Then  he'll  forsake  every  plaything  and  toy  ; 
Keep  him  a  baby — he'll  soon  be  a  man, 
Keep  him  a  baby  as  long  as  you  can. 


ANGELINY 

Come  right  hyar  yo'  Angeliny  ; 

Chile,  yo'  jes'  gib  me  de  blues, 
What  yo'  doin'  ?  tryin'  to  try  me  ? 

Warin'  out  deni  bran  new  shoes, 
Yase  yo'  is,  'deed  yo'  is, 

Doan  yo'  dar  talk  back  to  me, 
Kase  I  know  yo'  is. 

Whar'  yo'  gwine  to  play  dis  tennis  ? 

Who  yo'  playin'  tennis  wid  ? 
Playin'  wid  dat  Irish  Dennis, 

Well  fo'  yo',  chile,  dat  yo's  hid. 
Come  right  squar  out  f'om  dar, 

Out  Pom  dar  hin'  dat  dar  bed  ; 
Now  go  combj'o'  har. 

Angeliny  I     Angeliny  ! 

Doan  yo'  hyar  me  callin'  yo'  ? 
Needn't  tink  dat  yo'  slip  by  me, 

Min',  gal,  Ise  daid  on  tali  yo'. 
Come  right  squar  in  f'om  dar, 

Yo'  kaint  play  wid  dem  low  white  trash, 
Now,  my  gal,  see  hyar. 

Whar's  yo'  music  edgecashnn  ? 

Git  to  dat  piunnah  dar, 
Play  dat  lubly  strabaganzah 

Dat  yo'  calls  de  Maiden's  Pra'r. 
Laif  a-libin',  chile,  do  yo' 

Want  de  folks  in  dis  hyar  neighbo'hood 
Tink  vo's  Irish  too? 


DE   EYARFQUAKE 

De  eyarfquake  a  shakin' 

Jes'  a  short  time  ago 
Was  Belzabub  a  pullin' 

Out  de  clinkers  down  below. 
So  yo'  bettah  drap  yo'  sinnin', 
Kase  ol'  Satan  he's  a  grinnin', 
Bime-by  de  big  saxaphone 

Am  shuahly  gwine  to  blow. 

Cose  yo's  laffin  now, 

Eekase  it's  mighty  still. 
Bime-by  she  gwine  ter  shake 

Wid  a  pow'ful  heavy  chill  ; 
An'  de  ole  bell  in  de  towah 
'S  gwine  to  fall  down  wid  de  powah, 
An'  de  millstones  go  dancin' 

Ronn'  de  bottom  ob  de  mill. 

Some  day  dar's  gwine  ter  open 
De  bigges'  kin'  of  crack, 

An'  dis  hyar  coon's  a  hopin' 

Dat  de  Lord  won't  hoi'  yo'  back, 

'Speshly  Jaspah  Jones  McClellan, 

Yo's  de  one  Ise  bin  a  tellin' 

'Bout  de  use  of  bad  profanity 
An'  also  plug  terbac. 


UK  EYAKI-'QUAKE  125 

'Fore  de  debbil  shake 

De  furnace  down  agin, 
Yo'  bettah  ask  de  Lord 

To  rid  yo'  ob  yo'  sin, 
Kase  when  Satan  wants  some  fuel 
To  warm  up  his  brimstone  gruel 
He'll  ope  de  furnace  do' 

An'  de  draf  '11  suck  yo'  in. 

Doan  be  loafin'  now 

An'  shootin'  craps  arouif  ; 
Yo'  bettah  be  a  tryin'  on 

De  white  probashion  gown  ; 
Fus'  yo'  know  all  ob  a  sudden 
Mos'  yo'  coons  '11  take  to  scuddin' 
An'  dose  cushun  feet 

Dey'll  tievah  tech  de  groun'. 


THE  PESSIMIST 

Nothing  to  do  but  work, 

Nothing  to  eat  but  food, 

Nothing  to  wear  but  clothes 

To  keep  one  from  going  nude. 

Nothing  to  breathe  but  air 
Quick  as  a  flash  'tis  gone  ; 

Nowhere  to  fall  but  off, 

Nowhere  to  stand  but  on. 

Nothing  to  comb  but  hair, 

Nowhere  to  sleep  but  in  bed, 

Nothing  to  weep  but  tears, 

Nothing  to  bury  but  dead. 

Nothing  losing  but  songs, 

Ah,  well,  alas  !  alack  ! 
Nowhere  to  go  but  out, 

Nowhere  to  come  but  back. 

Nothing  to  see  but  sights, 

Nothing  to  quench  but  thirst, 

Nothing  to  have  but  what  we've  got 
Thus  thro'  life  we  are  cursed. 

Nothing  to  strike  but  a  gait ; 

Everything  moves  that  goes. 
Nothing  at  all  but  common  sense 

Can  ever  withstand  these  woes. 


126 


BUT  THHN 

John  Oswald  MuGuffin  he  wanted  to  die 

'Xd  bring  his  career  to  an  end  ; 
Of  covirse,  well — he  didn't  say  nothin'  to  me — 

But  that's  what  he  told  every  friend. 
So  one  afternoon  he  went  down  to  the  pier, 
'Xd  folks  saw  him  actin'  most  terribly  queer  ; 
He  prayed  'nd  he  sung,  put  his  hand  up  to  cough 
,\n'  ever}-  one  thought  he  was  a-goin  to  jump  off- 
Hut  he  didn't. 
Me  may  jump  tomorrer 
Mornin'  at  ten — 
Said  he  w.'is  goin  t<> 
Try  it  again — 
Hut  then. 

John  Oswald  he  said  he  was  tired  of  the  earth — • 

Of  its  turmoil  and  struggle  and  strife — 
'Nd  he  made  up  his  mind  a  long,  long  time  ago 

He  was  just  bound  t'  take  his  own  life  ; 
'Xd  the  very  next  time  'at  he  started  to  shave, 
Determined  to  die,  he  wus  goin'  t'  be  brave  ; 
So  he  stood  up  'nd  flourished  the  knife  in  despair 
'Xd  every  one  thought  'at  he'd  kill  himself  there — 

Hut  he  didn't. 

He  says  'at  tomorrer 

Mornin'  at  ten 

He  has  a  notion  l<> 

Trv  it  again — 

Hut  then. 


128  AY/7"  THEN 

He  went  and  bought  arsenic,  bought  paris  green. 

'Xd  cobalt  'nd  all  kinds  of  stuff 
'Nd  he  took  great  delight  in  leaving  it  'round — 

Of  course  that  was  done  for  a  bluff — 
Then  he  rigged  up  his  room  with  a  horrible  thing, 
That  would  blow  his  head  off  by  pullin'  a  string. 
Folks  heard  the  explosion — rushed  up — on  his  bed 
John  Oswald  was  lyin'.     They  whispered,  "He's  dead. 

But  lie  wasn't. 

He  riz  tip  'nd  said  : 

Couldn't  say  when 

He'd  fully  decide  to 

Try  it  again — 

But  then. 


PKliSQUh   1S1.L: 

How  well  I  remember  the  day  that  1  spent 

On  that  far  awav  island  where  all  is  content  ; 

When  sweet  from  the   woodland,    'midst  bramble  and 

brake, 

The  birds  caroled  on — it  seemed  just  for  our  sake. 
Oh,  where  on  this  orb  is  a  spot  that  we  feel 
The  rapture  of  loving  as  on  the  Presque  Isle. 

I  laved  in  her  looks  and  I  bathed  in  her  smiles, 

Nor  thought  of  the  nook  where  the  serpent  beguiles  ; 

I  watched  the  calm  glow  of  her  passionate  cheek, 

As  in  maidenhood  only  those  blushes  can  speak. 

IIo\v  I  ardently  knelt  at  her  feet  to  reveal, 

The  love  that  was  born  far  away  on  Presque  Isle. 

When  the  stars  had  come  out  in  the  clear  northern  skies 
They  but  beamed  on  my  soul,  ah  !  less  bright  than  her 

eyes, 

And  I  turned  in  despair  from  the  orbs  up  above 
To  gaze  in  the  eyes  of  an  angel  of  love. 
Our  lips  met,   Oh  !  why  should  we  longer  conceal 
Our  love  on  that  rapturous,  star-lit  Presque  Isle? 

I'm  still  looking  back  on  that  island  today, 

But  my  lips  they  are  mute — I  have  nothing  to  say, 

Kxcept  that  my  soul  I  claim  as  my  own, 

Tho'  my  soft  auburn  hair  is  all  scatter'd  and  strovvn. 

And  after  each  cyclone  in  silence  I  kneel 

And  prav  for  an  earthquake  to  sink  the  Presque  Isle. 


BEULAH   LAND 

Ober  de  ribber  in  Beulah  Lan' 
I)c  lubly  angels  in  white  robes  stan'  ; 
Dey  beckon  me  <lar,  I  kin  hyar  de  ban', 
Ober  <le  ribber  in  Beulah  Lan'. 

Ober  de  ribber  what  sights  I  see  ! 
Somebody  Stan's  dar  a  waitin'  fer  me  ; 
Stan's  on  de  sho'  ob  de  Jaspah  Sea, 
A  callin'  ;  he  says  dars  res'  fo'  me. 

Ober  de  ribber  I  soon  mus'  go, 
Weary  ob  waitin  fro'  all  dis  woe  ; 
An'  when  my  journey  is  ended  I  know 
Dat  de  Good  Shepherd  will  open  de  do'. 

Ober  de  ribber  my  soul  takes  wing, 

De  songs  ob  Zion  I  hyar  'em  sing  ; 

When  tuned  to  de  harps  how  our  voices  will  ring 

Close  roun'  de  frone  ob  de  Hebenly  King. 

Ober  de  ribber  dey  beckon  to  me, 
De  ribber  dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea  ; 
Ober  de  ribber  you  all  mus'  know. 
Dat  de  good  shepherd  will  open  de  do'. 

Den  we'll  shout  glory  an'  praise  'im  an'  sing 
'Long  up  de  golden  streets,  how  it  will  ring  ; 
Close  to  de  Massa  fo'evah  we'll  stan', 
Ober  de  ribber  in  Beulah  Lan'. 


THE  BLACKBIRD  AND  THE  THRUSH 

"  It's  my  idee,"  a  blackbird  said, 

As  he  sat  in  a  mulberry  bush, 
"  It's  my  idee  it  seems  to  me 

I  can  warble  as  well  as  a  thrush." 

"  Let  'er  go,  let  'er  go,"  said  a  carrion  crow, 
As  he  swung  on  an  old  clothes-line, 

"  For  I  won't  budge,  but  I'll  act  as  judge 
And  the  winner  I'll  ask  to  dine." 

In  a  minor  key  the  thrush  sang  he, 
Way  uj)  in  an  elm  remote, 
And  twice  and  thrice  like  paradise 
Songs  welled  from  the  warbler's  throat. 

Then  a  rooster  he,  in  his  usual  glee, 

Flew  up  on  the  barnyard  ience, 

And  lie  crowed  and  he  crowed  ;    then  he  said 

"  I'll  be  blowed 
It  that  isn't  simply  immense." 

Then  the  blackbird,  well,  he  listened  a  spell 
And  began  in  garrulous  run, 
Hut  he  wasn't  admired,  for  a  farmer  tired — 
Well,  he  up  and  fired  a  gun. 

Then  the  black  crow  said,  as  lie  rested  his  head 
"  I  want  to  go  somewhere  and  die." 

And  a  young  cock-a-too  said  :   "  I  do  too," 
And  a  parrot  said  :    "  So  do  I." 


DH  SPRING-HOUSE 

Down  to  de  spring-house  am  whar  I  long  to  wandah — 
De  ole  do'  a  creakin'  as  hit  swings  to  en  fro, 
Down  to  de  spring-house  standin'  ovah  yonclah. 
Standin'  ovah  vondnh  in  de  long  time  ago. 

Down  by  de  spring-house  de  lilacs  am  a  bloomiif ; 
Holly-hocks  a  noddin'  an'  honey  suckles  thick. 
Down  by  de  spring-house  I  listen  to  de  lowin'; 
An'  reckon  de  ole  brindle  cow  am  wadin'  up  de  creek. 

Down  by  de  spring-house  once  agin  I'm  walkin'; 
Vellah  cream  'pon  de  shef,  kaint  let  it  be. 
Down  in  de  spring-house  no  use  in  talkin'  — 
Col'  greens  en  hog-jole  's  good  enuff  fo'  me. 

Down  to  de  spring-house  missus  eomes  a  callin' 
()!'  hound's  a  bahkin  an'  massa  'gins  ter  shout. 
Down  in  de  spring-house  what  a  catenvaulin — 
Jals  sort  a  waitin'  fo'  de  niggah  to  come  out. 

Down  by  de  spring-house  blackbirds  eat  de  cherry. 
Wasp  suck  de  honeysuckle,  clovah  feed  fie  bee. 
Down  in  de  spring-house  niggah  nevali  worry — 
Down  in  de  spring-house  am  good  enuff  fo'  me. 


UNDER   OBLIGATIONS 

I  notice  dat  de  weddah's  ratliah  chilsome,  mo'  or  less, 
An'  I  notice  dat  de  back-log  so't  o'  crackles,  Lor'  bress  ? — 
Ole  Crimp  is  on  de  tuhnpike  an'  de  frost  is  on  de  faince 
An'  Sant"  Clans  '11  soon  be  hyah,  so  chillun,  hab  saince. 

I  seed  'iin  on  Ole  Massa's  ruff;,  twar  jais  de  oddah  night, 
Wid  a  span  ol>  balky  reindyalis,  bofe  uni  dapple  gra}*  an'  white. 
Dey  war  hitched  to  a  inonsus  lookin'  alligatah  sleigh. 
An'  filled  wid  gifts  fo'  de  chillun,  piled  ebery  which  un  way. 

Hab  any  ob  yo'  chillnn  bin  a  sinnin'  ? 

Or  a  sassin'  yo'  suppearyahs,  or  a  griiinin'  ? 

Vo'  bettah  read  yo'  Bible  'bout  ole  Moses  an'  de  laws, 

Fob  yo's  undah  obligashuns  to  Ole  Santa  Claus. 

How  many  ob  yo'  chillun  bin  a  tendin'  to  de  church? 

An'  done  made  up  yo'  minds  to  leabe  de  debbil  in  de  lurch, 

Hab  vo'   tended   nj)  to  Sunday-school,    an'     listen'd    to    yo' 

teachah  ? 
Does  yo' always  drap  a  nickel  in  to  try  an'  spote  yo'  preachah? 

Am  yo'  wilful  to  yo'  faddah  or  yo'  muddah  ? 

Does  yuli  pestervate  yo'  sistah  or  yo'  bruddah? 

Yo'  bettah  change  yo'  tacticks  cause,  well,  jess  because 

Vo's  uudah  obligashuns  now  in  Ole  Santa  Claus. 


'34 


Kin  yo'  ansuah  all  dese  questions  dat  yo'  pastah  has  perftrd  ? 
Ef  yo  kaint,  yo'  bettah  hang  yo'  haids  en  nevah  say  a  word ; 
Foh  yo'  pastah  sort  ob  reckons  dat  de  debbil's  bin  bo'n  in  yuh 
An'  when  Ole  Santa  Claus comes  roim'  he'll  surely  be  agin  yo'. 

So,  ef  any  ob  yo'  chillun  bin  a  sinnin'. 

Or  a  sassin'  yo'  suppearyahs,  or  a  grinnin', 

Yo'  bettah  read  yo'  Bible,  don't  yo'  hesitate  or  pause, 

Kase  yo's  undah  obligashuns  to  Ole  Santa  Claus. 


CLEOPATRA  AND  CHARMIAN 

I'm  dying,  yes,  Charniian,  dying, 
I'm  dying  to  stroll  out  awhile. 

This  eve  we'll  go  down  to  the  Cydnus 
And  scare  up  some  old  crocodile. 

I  swear  by  the  Priests  of  Serapis 

This  Egypt  just  gives  me  the  bines, 

It  seems  that  my  onlv  companions 
Are  crocodiles,  storks,  and  emus. 

I'm  so  melancholy  and  stupid. 

Sweet  maid  should  1  drop  in  a  do/.e, 

I  pray  you  loosen  my  sandals 

And  pull  off  these  long  silken  hose. 

Bring  me  the  asp  in  the  lattice  box 

That  Tony  caught  down  in  the  Nile. 

Pinch  up  his  tail  with  a  small  carob  stick 
And  then  let  him  wiggle  awhile. 

Last  night  my  pet  lion,  Augustus, 

Was  howling  for  something  to  eat — 

Why  under  the  sun  don't  they  feed  him 
That  slave  with  the  pigeon-toed  feet  ? 

Today  vou  must  polish  those  idols. 

The  buhl-headed  idols — and  more, 
just  see  that  those  lubberly  eunuchs 

Don't  spit  on  my  porphry  floor. 

You're  getting  infernally  la/.v 

And  looking  so  peeked  and  white. 

See  here,  miss  !   Does  that  jay  from  Memphis 
Think  you  can  sit  up  every  night? 


I36 


I  vow,  I  believe  you're  weak-minded, 
Your  brain  seems  to  be  in  a  whirl, 

Next  week  I'll  go  down  to  Miletus 
And  look  up  a  new  hired  girl. 

Go  bring  me  my  old  mother  hubbard, 

And  also  those  Indian  balms  ; 
Come,  let  us  go  down  in  the  gai^lens 

And  bask  'neath  those  lovely  dhoum  palm* 

Bring  also  my  pearl  brooch  and  necklace, 

Dear,  lazy  old  Ethiope  girl  ! 
Some  wine  of  Ramesian  vintage 

I'll  mix  up  a  nectar  of  pearl. 

We'll  drink  to  Osiris  and  Isis 

The  great  Sphinx  of  Theban  renown, 
Old  Cheops,  the  father  of  pyramids, 

The  Ptolemies,  then  to  the  crown. 

By  Ptluih  !  let  us  try  the  new  poison 
On  some  of  our  new  Roman  stock. 

I'd  like  to  tip  over  some  pyramid 

And  give  the  old  mummies  a  shock. 

What's  that?  Who  seeks  for  admission  ? 

Was  that  a  fog  horn  I  heard  blow  ? 
Can  Tony  be  Hearing  the  castle  ? 

Just  look,  Charmion  dear,  ere  you  go. 

Have  something  good,  dearie,  for  breakfast, 
But  you  know  what  pleases  me  most — 

Some  pelican's  eggs,  a  la  Cairo, 

And  fried  phenicopters  on  toast. 

Remember  about  rising  early. 

Get  up  with  the  wagtail  at  four. 
So  smother  the  glim  in  the  hallway. 

And  lock  up  the  back  kitchen  door. 


P1NKEY 

I  reckon  \vint;ih's  goin'. 
It's  rainin'  'sted  of  smnvin'. 
1  taK-  yo'  dars  no  kno\vin' 
Jes'  \\har  dis  chile  '11  go. 

Might  go  to  .Soul"  Kyarlina, 
An  stuninah  dar  wid  Dinah, 
1  guess  I'd  cut  a  shine 

Among  de  coons  I  know. 

Den  dars  my  good  ol'  massa 
Way  down  in  Tallahassie. 
He  ain't  fo'got  dis  sassie 
Chile  dat  used  to  sing. 

De  why  he  call  me  "  Pinkey  " 
Was  de  colluh  oh  my  crinky 
Frock  I  wore  so  shrinky 

When  I  use  to  dance  de  fling. 

We  gals  out  in  de  moonshine 
Would  dance  de  good  ol'  coonjine. 
An'  dreckly  den  we'd  soon  fin' 
Dat  missus  heah  de  noise. 

Den  mighty  quick  she'd  hurrv 
Down  dar  all  in  a  flurry. 
An'  fin'  dis  huckleberry 

A  dancin'  fo'  de  boys. 

An'  den  de  way  she'd  take  me, 
An'  lamd  ob  goodness,  shake  me  ! 
Ol'  missus  raised  an'  brake  me, 
\<>  wondah  Isc-  so  good. 


'38 


()!'  missus  used  to  tell  me 
Dat  like  de  cows  she'd  bell  me, 
Or  else  she'd  done  go  sell  me 
To  Yankees,  Ise  so  rude. 

I  'membah  Rasmus  Diddle, 
As  black  as  auntie's  griddle  ; 
He  used  to  play  de  fiddle, 

An'  feet !  umh  !  a  holy  show. 

An'  dar  was  Luke  an'  Jaspah, 
lAicindy,  Jude  an'  Caspah, 
Dat  ignominyus,  'aspah- 

Ratin',  orn'ry  lookin'  moke. 

Dat  ol'  cush-footed,  cramp-back, 
Dat  essence  ob  ol'  lamp-black, 
Dat  inside  yih  !  yih  !  ob  a  smokestack, 
Us  gals  we  called  'im  smoke. 

An'  dat  new  coon  f'om  Cuba, 
Dat  used  to  play  de  tuba, 
He  used  to  pat  de  juba, 

\Yhile  I  dance  de  Mobile  buck. 

De  ole  banjo  was  a-pingin' 
An'  dat  pink  frock  a  swingin', 
Dis  yaller  chile  a  wingin', 
Jes'  hoein'  down  fo'  luck. 

I  ain't  no  Mobile  niggah, 
I  cut  no  Mobile  figgah, 
Hut  when  yo'  pull  de  triggah 
Vo'  pestah  dese  heah  shoes. 

An'  when  de  fiddle's  scrapin', 
Dars  too  much  music  scapin', 
Ise  got  to  git  to  shapin' 
Mvself  or  <rit  de  blues. 


Yo'  wondah  <lat  Ise  weary 
I;ro  all  dese  days  so  dreary, 
Dar  ain't  one  finjj  dat's  cheery 
'Bout  Shcawgo  life  fo'  me. 

Dat's  de  raison  dat  1st-  jjoin'. 
Jes'  as  soon  '/.it  quits  a-snowili', 
An'  de'col'  win'  stops  a-blowin, 
Rack  to  ol'  Kyarlina  State. 

Bar  de  ivy  am  a  creepin'; 
Whar  my  po'  ol'  muddah's  sleepin', 
Missus — 'sense  me  kase  Ise  weepin' 
Seems  as  if  I  couldn't  wait. 


THE  BUNG  TOWN  CANAI. 

Do  you  remember  Tom,  Billy,  and  Sal. 
The  old  swimmin'  days  in  the  Bungtown  canal? 
The  big  millin'  logs  fast  asleep  on  its  banks, 
We  used  to  jump  off  of  and  cut  up  odd  pranks 
In  our  tropical  costume.     We  used  to  make  Sal 
Go  home  when  we  swum  in  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

I  never'll  forget  it  an'  'tween  yon  an'  me, 

You  'member  the  place  where  the  mill  uster be? 

We  had  a  long  spring-board  out  there' n  we'd  scud 

An'  jist  go  head  foremost  clean  inter  the  mud. 

I  may  fergit  some  things,  but  I  never  shall 

Fergit  them  old  times  'round  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

Nobody  need  never  say  nothin'  to  me 
'Bout  the  Blue  Danube  River  er  banks  of  the  Dee, 
They  can't  perduce  sights  like  some  'at  I've  seen 
Crawlin'  up  on  its  banks  and  off  in  the  green 
Old  marsh  where  the  scum  and  malarier  are 
'S  the  pizenest  things  in  the  world  out  in  there. 

Me  an'  John  Price  caught  the  gol  blamedest  thing, 
With  six  legs  'n  four  fins  'n  a  valler-jack  sting, 
Two  eyes  in  its  head  an'  two  horns  in  its  tail, 
An'  it  carried  a  shell  on  its  back  like  a  snail, 
So  we  tuck  it  home  an'  skeer'd  mother  an'  Sal 
'Ith  what  we  fished  out  of  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

Once  they's  a  stranger  'at  jest  took  a  drink 

From  the  Bung  Town  Canal,  an'  course  he  didn't  think 

What  he  was  doin',  an'  after  awhile 

He  went  an'  turned  yeller,  as  yeller  as  bile, 

So  doctors  all  went  to  perscribin'  fer  him, 

Makin'  his  chances  a  blamed  sight  more  slim. 


THE  lU'NC  TOWN  CANAL  \\\ 

What  they  all  said  was  that  he  had  a  siiaik 
Way  down  in  his  stummick  an'  he  better  take 
One  or  two  whiskeys  Tore  eatin'  each  meal, 
Then  in  a  week  er  two  inebbe  he'd  feel 
Better.     So  natcherly  he  tuck  to  drink, 
Usin'  rye  whiskey  'bout  three  months,  I  think. 

Course  havin'  snaiks  in  the  stummick  is  tough, 

But  snaiks  is  a-knowin'  when  they've  got  enough. 

So  gittin'  dissatisfied,  most  of  'em  fled, 

Some  hid  in  his  boots  and  some  got  in  his  bed. 

I  argiecl  the  pint  'at  he  never'd  a  died 

If  they'd  a  jest  let  'em  be  on  the  inside. 

We  buried  him  there  where  the  low  grasses  creep, 
In  a  bed  of  pond-lilies  we  put  him  to  sleep. 
Where  the  meddy-larks  sing  and  the  cry  of  the  loon, 
An'  the  rice-hen  is  singin'  a  dolefuller  tune. 
We  left  him  alone,  after  writin'  his  gal 
Concernin'  his  death  an'  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

Oh,  them  barefooted  days  an'  the  spot  where  I'd  lay 
An'  jest  steeped  my  hide  in  the  glory  o'  day, 
A-hearin'  the  bulrushes  whisper  an'  sigh, 
An'  watchin'  the  shadder-clouds  hurryin'  by. 
How  I  long  to  go  back  there,  with  some  old-time  pal, 
'X  dive  off  once  a<nn  in  the  l.ung  Town  Canal. 


DH    MASSA 

De  Massa  to  tie  shepa'd  say  : 
Go  call  de  sheep  rial's  gone  astray. 
De  night  is  col'  I  hear  de  win', 
A  shakin  'gin  my  winder  blin'; 
Dars  some  po'  sheep  dat's  gone  astray 
Go  call  'em  in,  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cn-dey  !  Cu-rley  ! 

De  shepa'd  said  de  night  was  col', 
But  all  rle  sheep  was  in  de  fol*. 
I  called  'em  in  at  set  ob  sun  : 
Dey  all  come  runnin'  sep  de  one 
Dat's  always  wanderin'  away. 
An'  never  minds  de  call  Cu-dev  ! 

Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  " 

De  massa  then  went  fro  de  gloom. 
Ob  medder  fit-Ids.     De  autumn  moon 
Wasdoclgin'  roun'  behin'  a  cloud. 
But  still  he  goes  a  callin'  loud, 
For  dat  one  sheep  dat's  gone  astray. 
I  hyar  him  call,  "  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  " 

He  listens  long  to  hyar  de  soun'. 
F'om  some  ole  wedder  pokin'  roun', 
Dat's  gone  to  res'  down  in  de  dell. 
An'  wanderin'  roun'  has  los'  his  bell  ; 
Tho'  softer  now  so  far  away. 
I  hyar  him  call.  "  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dev  !  Cu-dev  !  Cu-dev  !  " 


J43 


But  ftmler  on  in  gloom  an'  damp, 
Upon  de  border  ob  de  swamp  ; 
So  chill'd  by  dew  an'  autumn  win's, 
Right  dar  de  po'  los'  sheep  he  fin's  ; 
He  lifts  him  up,  an  leads  de  way, 
Yit  I  hyar  massa's  echo  say, 
Cu-dey  !  Cn-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cn-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  " 

An'  all  night  long  de  win'  an'  rains, 
An'  hail  against  de  winder  panes, 
In  dreams  I  hyar  de  massa  call 
De  wanderin'  sheep,  he  knows  'em  all. 
He  pints  de  road,  an'  shows  de  way 
An'  ever  stan's  an'  calls  "  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  " 


COONIF.  IN  DF  HOLI.FR 

Coonie  in  de  holler  hidin'  liin'  de  logs, 
Little  picaninies  ketchin'  pollywogs, 
Banjo  am  a  ping  ping  pingin'  out  a  tune, 
Ebery  ting  am  Inbly  as  a  day  in  June. 

Ting,  ping,  ping,  banjo  am  a  pingin', 
Sing,  sing,  sing,  yaller  gals  a  singin', 
Wing,  wing,  wing,  ain't  dat  wingin'  fine? 
De  same  ole  step  in  de  ole  coonjine. 

Cindy  in  de  kitchen  tryin'  out  de  lard, 

Jnsy  in  de  do'way,  rakin'  up  de  yard, 

Jaspah  am  a  pickin'  on  de  ole  banjo 

An'  he  am  a  singin'    "  Ise  gwine  home  to  Clo." 

Coonie  in  de  holler  done  gone  up  a  tree. 

An'  he  am  a  hidin'  \\har  no  one  can  see. 

But  he  know  his  bi/ness  nuff  not  to  come  down, 

Kase  he  know  him  likely  meet  dat  frocious  hoiuf. 

Coonie  in  de  holler,  hark,  I  hyar  a  gun, 
Git  a  goin'  Rasmus,  Jube  git  up  an'  run. 
All  de  foolish  niggahs  runnin'  till  dev  pant, 
Bet  tnv  bottom  dollah  Rube  has  treed  an  ant. 

"Pee,  wee,  wee,"  pee  wees  in  de  cedars, 
Bluebirds  come,  robins  an  de  leaders, 
Cndder-rudder-rung,  bullfrog  just  now  sung, 
Hyar  dat  distant  thundah  ;    guess    dat    spring   am 
sprung. 


AFTEK  WE1DENFELLER    GOES 

It's  goin'  to  be  blamed  lonesome  after  Weidenfeller  goes; 
Catastrofies  are  follerin'  right  along  an'  no  one  knows 
What's  goin'  to  happen  next,  for  banks  are  bustin'  every  day 
An'  now  we  hear  the  woeful  news  that  Weld's  agoin'  away. 

Weid  agoin'  !  think  o'  that !   not  goin'  up  above, 
Xor  out  upon  Midway  1'laisance,  that  spot  the  boys  all  love. 
Or  goin'  to  Californy  or  out  to  Idaho 

But  yet  they  say  he's  goin'  away  ;   that's  why  we're  filled  with 
woe. 

O'  course  he  ain't  goin  to  die  or  anything  like  that, 
lie's  simply  got  his  sal'ry  raised  and  kind  o'  "standiif  pat  " 
With — I  believe  it's  with  the  boss  ;    I'm  blamed  if  I  can  tell  ; 
Hut  I  know  Weid's  goin'  away — know  that  mighty  well. 

I  know  the  Club'll  miss  'im  lots  ;  so  all  the  fellers  here 
Are  gathered  'round  the  festal  board  tonight  to  give  'im  cheer, 
An'  send  'im  off  in  proper  shape,  which  only  goes  to  show 
We're  mighty  glad  lie's  prosperin'  but  sad  to  see  'im  go. 

I've  stood  upon  the-  wild  sea  banks,  afar  in  Michigan, 
Just  h-ft  its  sandy  shores  this  morn  to  be  here  once  again   - 
Back  here  to  meet  our  dear  old  friend,  with  heart  chock    full 

of   woe. 
An'    don't   that  show   I'm   monrnin",  too,  cause  Wcid  has  got 

to  go? 

<iod  bless  'im  and  let  fortune  smile  and  cheer 'im  on  each  day. 
Suckers  and  fame  still  tag  'im  on  an'  get  right  in  his  way, 
So  if  the  Club  'pears  lonesome  when  the  frosts  are  comin'  on. 
We'll  sit  .-'.round  an'  sav  it's  jest  cause  Weidenfeller's  gone. 


ZACCHEUS 

Zaccheus  dim'  up  <U'  sycanio'  tree, 

.\-\vaitin'  fo'  <le  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
DtMi'  'e  looked  up  de  road  jes'  fur  as  lie  could  see, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Oh,  Zaccheus  knew  he  could  done  see  de  bes', 
Rf  'e  cliin'  up  de  tree  he  could  ovahlook  de  press, 
Kn  'haps  'e  could  sleep  eu  git  a  leetle  res', 

While  a  waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Waitin  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come, 

A  waitin  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
He  could  ovahlook  de  press, 
An'  'e  git  a  leetle  res' 
While  a- waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Ole  Zaccheus  set  on  de  bow  ob  de  tree 

Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
A  long  time  ago  in  de  ole  Judee, 

A-waitin  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Along  about  noontime  en  ebbery  ting  clear, 
Word  went  around  dat  de  Lo'd  was  drawin'  near, 
En  de  press  begun  to  jostle  en  de  multitude  to  cheer 

While  a-waitin  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  to  come  elong  come, 

A-waitin  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
When  de  Lo'd  was  drawin'  near, 
How  de  folks  begun  to  cheer. 
While  a-waitin  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

When  de  Lo'd  come  elong  'e  said  to  Zach, 

Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come, 
Ise  pow'ful  glad  yo's  heah,  I  am,  fo'  a  fac'," 

Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
So  come  right  down  hyah  outen  dat  tree. 
Yo's  jes'  de  berry  pusson  Ise  lookin'  fo'  ter  see. 

146 


Dis  day  I  abide  at  de  house  \vid  thee," 

Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come, 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
De  republican  an'  sinnah, 
Took  de  Lo'd  home  to  dinnali, 
Waitin  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Now  Zaccheus  he  was  an  Israelite, 

Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
En  he  lived  in  a  mansion  way  out  o'  sight 

While  waitiif  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
En  Zach  knew  de  Lo'd  knew  he  had  stuff 
En  he  wondah'd  ef  de  Lo'd  was  dun  makin'  'im  a  bluff. 
Hut  de  Lo'd  went  home  wid  Zach  sliuah  ennff, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come — 
Oh,  Zaccheus  de  sinnah, 
Took  de  good  Lo'd  to  dinnali — 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Ole  Zacchens  he  was  a  sliuuh  miff  sinnah, 

Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ler  come, 
An'  back  in  dem  days  was  a  seven  time  winner, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
But  de  Lo'd  told  Zach  he  inns'  gib  to  de  po' 
En  neber  let  a  beggah  man  pass  his  do'. 
Den  Zach  he  said  :   "  1  will  Lo'd  sho'," 

While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ler  come. 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come. 

A-waitin  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
So  gib  me  de  po' 
Dal  pass  by  yo'  do', 
While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 


A   RETROSPECTION 

Ise  a  siUin'  neaf  de  ole  magnolia  tree 
So't  o'  thinkin'  ob  de  times  dat  used  to  lie. 

In  de  huckleberry  patches 

When  we  heah'd  the  steamah  Xatchex., 
An'  de  white  folks  all  'ud  hustle  down  to  see. 
Dar  was  Missy  Elenor  an'  Julie  Ann, 
An'  Haidee  Lee,  who  lived  wid  Uncle  Dan. 

But  she  went  and  run'd  away. 

An'  de  folks  set  up  an'  sav 
Dat  she  'loped  off  wid  a  wicked  no'then  man. 

I'o'  Cindy  she  is  daid,  and  Aunty  IVlarv 

Doan  do  nuffin'  now  but  sate  aroun'  en  worry  ; 

Hn  ebery  night  she  say 

She  'specks  to  go  next  day, 
But  her  disease  ain'  one  dat  'pears  to  hurry. 
De  doctors  seems  es  ef  de}-  hadn't  made  out 
What  'tis  dat  makes  ole  aunty  look  so  played  out  ; 

But  de  time  she  will  consume 

Turnin'  Heaven  into  gloom 
Will  make  de  Lo'd  repent  when  she's  done  laid  out. 

Missie  Elenor  she  married  Col  Paxton, 

An'  de  scandal  'bout  de  colonel  don't  be  axin', 

But  dey  say,  I  undahstan', 

Dat  he  done  shot  off  his  han', 

Jes'  to  keep  from  jinin'  good  ole  Stonewall  Jackson. 
An'  Jiilie  Ann  dat  talk  like  she  was  hoarse, 
Dat  huzzy  she's  done  gone  an'  got  divorce, 

Dey  lived  in  Chickamauga 

Till  she  moved  up  to  Chicagah, 
Kase  tings  is  mighty  cheap  up  dar  ob  course. 


'49 

Vo'  'niL'inbah  Haidee  I,ee?     I  undahstan' 
Dat  she's  trablin  roun'  de  country  wid  a  band, 

An'  I  heah  she  sort  o'  prances 

Wid  a  skirt  an'  thinks  she  dances, 
Did  yon  evah,  evah,  goodness  land  ! 
Wid  de  'vantages  dey  used  to  hab  en"  see 
How  deni  girls  was  all  turned  out.     Now  can  it  be 

Dat  cussidness  is  sown, 

Or  is  it  in  de  bone  ? 
Well,  hit  inns'  be  in  de  family,  seems  to  me. 


ST.   PATRICK'S  DAY 

Mavourneen,  swate  isle,  I  am  lonely  widout  thee, 

I  sigh  for  your  hills  an'  your  calm  sky  so  blue  ; 

Shure  I  niver  had  cause  one  shmall  moment  to  doubt  thee, 

An'  whin  I'm  not  thinkin'  I'm  dhreamin'  of  you. 

So  lads  whin  I  call  ye's,  come  sing  vour    "Come  all  ye's," 

Ah  !  here's  to  ould  Ireland,  byes,  ivery  toime  ; 

Deli,  coleens,  be  aisy,  your  dhrivin  me  crazy. 

What  day  of  our  country  is  one  half  so  foine  ? 

St.  Patrick's  the  dav,  shure,  it  was  in  the  mornin', 

An'  oh  !  how  it  graved  me,  Mavourneen,  to  part  ; 

But  I  left  ye's  as  I  left  me  mother,  a  mournin' 

An'  kissin'  the  shamrock  she  placed  near  me  heart. 

I'm  sorry  I  left  ye's  to  cross  the  deep  water, 

For  the  game  that  I've  played  wid  misfortune's  a  draw  ; 

But  don't  ye  be  ailin',  I'll  soon  be  a  sailin' 

Awav  to  the  isle  of  swate   "  Krin  go  Bragli." 

Then  lend  me  the  harp  and  I'll  wake  "Tipperary," 

Sing  "  By  Kilarney  "  wid  "  Xoreen  Maureen  ;  " 

The  shamrock  I'm  pressin',  an'  while  I'm  confessin' 

I'm  praisin'  St.  Patrick  an'  "  wearin'  the  green." 

So  lads  whin  I  call  ye's,  come  sing  your  "  Come  all  ye's," 

Ah  !  here's  to  ould  Ireland,  byes,  ivery  toime  ; 

Dch,  coleens,  be  aisy,  your  dhrivin'  me  cra/.v. 

What  dav  of  our  couutrv  is  one  half  so  foine? 


INJUN    SUMMAH 

I)e  Injun  sinninali's  coniin', 
De  l)ees  is  all  froo  liuininin', 
])e  watah-inellon  thuinbiir 

Has  passed  long  lime  ago. 
.  De  ole  clock  in  de  kitchen 
Is  tickin'  inos'  bevvitchin', 
While  (kibe  is  out  unhitchin' 
Just  kase  it  looks  like  snow. 

De  lambs  is  runnin'  over 
De  aftalimath  ob  clovah, 
An'  yondah  comes  de  drovah  ; 

I  'spec  lie's  got  a  yalni 
About  de  ole  bell-weddah 
Dat's  wand'rin  roun'  de  nieddah 
An'  wants  ter  git  togeddah 

\Yid  de  sheep  up  roun'  de  balm. 

Some  days  de  sun  is  shinin', 
Some  days  de  win'  is  whinin', 
An'  den  Ise  after  fin 'in' 

Rig  pippins  on  de  groun'  ; 
De  birds  hab  all  stopped  singin', 
\YiP  geese  is  soufward  wiugin', 
Jes'  look  an'  see  'em  stringin' 

Whar  wannah  weddah's  foun'. 

De  ya.ller  cat  is  nappin' 

Kn  layin'  roun'  an'  gappin'  ; 

Uimeby  he  will  be  slappin' 

Some  tom-cat  on  de  wall. 
Dar's  a  mellah,  yellah  glory 
Kase  <le  yeah  is  ol'  an'  ho'rv, 
An'  a  mt-lancholy  story 

So't  <>'  luunjiu'  roun'  us  all. 


'CAUSE   IT'S  GITTIN'  SPRING 

The  niedder  lark  is  pipin'  forth  a  sweeter  note  to  me, 

And  I  hear  the  pewees  over  yonder  in  the  cedar  tree  ; 

The  popple  leaves  is  quiv'rhr  'cause  the  wind  is  in  the  west, 

And  the  robin's  'round  a  hookin'  straws  to  build  hisself  a  lies'; 

The  blackbird  he's  a  flashin'  up  the  crimson  on  his  wing. 

What's  the  reason  ? 
Oh,  the  reason's  'cause  it's  gittin'  spring. 

The  old  man's  got  the  rheumatix,  an'  stiff  as  he  can  be  ; 
Why  it  don't  git  settled  weather's  moah'n  he  can  see? 
But  when  it  clears  oft  spk  ndid,  then  he's  feared  the  crops  is  lost 
An'  he  reckons  jest  a  little  wind  'nd  keep  away  the  frost. 
The  kitchen  door  is  open  ;  I  can  hear  Klmiry  sing. 

What's  the  reason  ? 
Oh,  the  reason's  'cause  it's  gittin'  spring. 

The  air  is  kind  o'  soft'nin'  and  yon  think  it's  goin'  to  storm  ; 
Sometimes  it's  kind  o'  chilly,  then  again  it  comes  off  warm  ; 
An'  jest  when  it's  the  stillest  you  can  hear  the  bullfrog's  note, 
An'  it  'pears  as  if  he  wonder'd  how  the  frost  got  in  his  throat. 
The  ducks  and  geese  are  riotous,  an'  strainin'  hard  to  sing. 

What's  the  reason  ? 
Oh,  the  reason's  cause  it's  gittin'  spring. 


DECORATE  DE  CABIN 

Ise  done  g\vine  ter  decorate  mah  cabin, 
Wid  all  de  brick-er-brack  Ise  been  a  habbin', 

Den  Ise  boun'  ter  hunt  er  wife, 

'Deed  I  is,  yo'  bet  yo'  life. 
Dar's  nnffin  like  a  woman  roun'  er  blabbin'. 

Ise  gwine  ter  hang1  a  coon  skin  on  de  do', 
Kn  hab  some  Turkey  rugs  roun'  on  de  flo'; 

An'  I  nevah  yet  hab  seen, 

De  ole  cabin  look  ser  clean, 
Kf  yo'  peep  in  dar  some  time  yo'll  fin'  it  so. 

I  los'  mail  wife  las'  summah,  Jane  Safras, 
Kase  she  done  got  up'n  blew  out  de  gas, 

An'  eber  saince  her  leabin', 

Ise  bin  a  sort  o'  greebin', 
Hut  I  hope  de  one  Ise  ketchin'  now'll  las'. 

We's  gwine  ter  start  right  in  to  decoratin', 
An'  yo'  will  be  surprised  at  what  I'm  statin', 

She's  six  feet  high  en  taperin', 

Kn  out  ob  sight  in  paperin', 
Ise  mighty  glad  Ise  been  so  long  a-waitin'. 

We'sgwine  ter  'range  de  pictures  on  de  wall — 
Yo'  talk  about  a  fine  reception  hall — 

Yo'  ought  to  see  de  flowahs, 

Kn  de  chromios  in  ours, 
\\"y  de  white  man's  house  ain"  in  de  thing  at  all. 


THE    ULTIMATUM 

"  You  can  decorate  your  office  with  a  thousand  gilded  signs, 
And  have  upholstered  furniture  in  quaint  antique  designs  ; 
Have  the  latest  patent  telephone  where  you  can  yell  '  Hello  !  ' 
But,"  said  she,  "  I  just  made  up  my  mind  that  typewriter  must 
go." 

"You  can  stay  down  at  the  office,  as  you  have  done,  after  hours; 
And,  if  you  are  partial  to  bouquets,  I'll  furnish  you  with  flowers. 
You  can  spring  the  old  club  story  when  you  come  home  late, 

you  know, 
But,  remember,  I've  made  up  my  mind  that  typewriter  must  go. " 

"You  can  let  your  book-keepers  lay  off  and  see  a  game  of  ball; 
The  office-boy  can  leave  at  noon  or  not  show  up  at  all. 
There — what  is  this  upon  your  coat?     It  isn't  mine  I  know. 
I  think  I  know  a  thing  or  two — that  typewriter  shall  go." 


15-1 


{ 


DREAMY  DAYS 

Oh  !  the  dreamy  days  of  youth, 

In  appearance  how  uncouth, 

As  we  waded  through  the  frog  ponds  and 

The  ditches. 

With  big  patches  on  each  knee, 
And  where  they  hadn't  ought  to  be. 
Oh  !  the  days  when  one  suspender 

Held  our  breeches. 

Oil  !  the  dreamy  days  of  yore, 

And  the  slippery  cellar  door. 

Oh  !  that  cherry  tree  whose  fruit  we  oft 

Were  testing. 

Then  we'd  wait  till  after  tea, 
When  we'd  sing  with  doleful  glee. 
Oh  !  how  often  mother  made  it 

Interesting. 


155 


WHEN   THE  STAr.E  CilTS  IN 

Pap  '11  »'it  a  letter,  'ml  Uncle  Zed  a  book, 
'Xd  Aunty  Jane  expects  er  magazine  ; 

'Xd  school  '11  all  be  out, 

'Xd  the  children  run  'nd  shout, 
While  a  playin'  "  one-old-cat  "  out  on  the  green. 

An'  the  men  'at's  in  the  grocery  store 

'Ll  come  outside  'nd  stand 
'Xd  talk,  'nd  look  around  'nd  grin  ; 

Fer  the  folks  down  at  the  postoffice 

A-standin'  all  around 
Are  happy  when  the  stage  conies  in. 

Ma  has  done  the  bakin',  'nd  made  some  patty  cakes, 
'Xd  Lizzie  has  done  the  sweepin'  all  alone  ; 

An'  she's  dustin'  up  the  furniture 

'Xd  settin'  things  about, 
Cause  tomorry  we're  expectin'  Aunt  Se'phrone. 

Xan  has  had  'er  hair  did  up 

In  papers  all  night  long  ; 
'Xd  today  she's  a-frizzin'  it  agin  ; 
I  bet  you  any  money  she's  expectin'  some  one,  too, 
'At  '11  be  here  when  the  stage  gits  in. 

When  you  see  the  yaller  cat  begin  a-washin'  up, 
An'  'er  hind  leg  pinted  over  that  way,  some 

Folkses  allers  say  it  is 

The  surest  kind  o'  sign 
'At  company  is  liable  to  come. 

'Xd  when  the  parlor's  opened  a  sort  o'  funny  smell 
Comes  cause  the  fire's  kindled  up  ag'in, 

We're  goin  to  have  a  high  old  time 

'Xd  all  our  relatives 
I'll  be  here  when  the  stage  gits  in. 


THF  Clli.TljRF.D  GIRL  AGAIN 

She  was  so  esthetic  and  culchud. 

Just  doted  on  Wagner  and  (duck  ; 
And  claimed  that  perfection  existed 

In  some  foreign  English  bred  duke. 

She  raved  over  Browning  and  Huxley, 

And  Tyndal,  and  Darwin,  and  Taine  ; 

And  talked  about  Flora  and  Fauna, 
And  many  things  I  can't  explain. 

Of  Madame  Blavatski,  the  occult, 
Theosophy,  art,  and  then  she 

Spoke  of  the  Cunead  Sibyl 
And  Venus  de  Med-i-che. 

She  spoke  of  the  why  and  the  wherefore, 
But  longed  for  the  whither  and  whence  ; 

And  she  said  yclept,  yip,  yap  and  yonder 
Were  used  in  alliterative  sense. 

Well  I  like  a  fool  sat  dumfounded, 

And  wondered  what  she  didn't  know. 

'Twas  10  when  I  bade  her  good  evening, 
I  thought  it  in  season  to  go. 

1  passed  her  house  yesterday  evening. 

I  don't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me, 
She  was  chasing  around  in  the  kitchen, 

And  getting  things  ready  for  tea. 

I  heard  her  sweet  voice  calling  :  "  Mother," 
It  was  then  that  I  felt  quite  abashed, 

For  she  yelled,  "  How  shall  I  fix  the  'taters, 
Fried,  lioni/ed,  baked,  biled,  or  mashed 


HE  CUSHVILLE  HOP 

Ise  gwine  down  to  de  Cushville  hop 

An'  dar  ain'  no  niggahs  gwine  ter  make  me  stop  ; 
Missus  gwine  to  deck  me  all  up  in  white, 

So  watch  de  step  dat  Ise  gettin'  in  ter  night. 
Um-hm,  my  honey,  tain'  no  vise  ; 

Um-hm,  my  honey,  turn  me  loose, 
Um-hm,  my  honey,  watch  me  shine 

When  mah  foot  am  a  shakin  in  de  ole  coonjine. 

No  black  niggahs  come  foolin'  roun'  me, 

Ise  jes'  to  look  at,  anyone  can  see  ; 
Ise  jes'  a  orniment,  an'  I  mus'  'fess 

No  niggah  put  'is  ahm  roun'  mah  snow-white  dress. 
Um-hm,  niggah,  keep  away,  understand  ? 

Um-hm,  niggah,  look  out  fo'  yo'  hand  ; 
Ise  jes'  ter  gaze  at  I  must  'fess 

So  don't  put  yo'  ahm  roun'  mah  snow-white  dress. 

Bring  out  de  banjo  plunk-plank-pling, 

Watch  de  motion  of  mah  step  an'  mah  swing  ; 
Don't  yo'  pestah  me  or  make  me  stop 

When  I  git  in  motion  at  de  Cushville  hop. 
Um-hm,  niggah,  keep  away,  keep  away  ! 

Um-hm,  niggah,  not  ter  day  ! 
Keep  away  from  me  kase  I  done  kain't  stop  : 

Ise  jes'  caught  mah  motion  fo'  de  Cushville  hop. 


158 


(iORD  ONLY  KNOWS 

I  saw  an  ole  beggar  dis  mawnin',  Luciiidy, 
I)e  weathah  was  col'  an'  bleak  an'  windy, 

An'  de  fros'  took  liold 

Ob  de  end  oh  his  nose. 

\\~har  \vus  he  goin'  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

(iord  only  knows. 

All  he  had  on  was  an'  ole  woolen  jacket, 

An'  pants  dat  had  done  seed  a  might}-  ha'd  racket. 

His  shoes  war  all  out, 

Kase  I  saw  his  toes. 

\Vhar  wus  he  goin'  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

He  said  his  gran'chilun  had  turned  him  away, 
Wid  iiuffin  to  eat  on  las'  Thanksgibin'  Day. 

Wid  no  ovahcoat, 

He  looked  about  froze. 

Whar  was  he  goin'  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

lie  lifted  his  han's,  dav  was  bony  an,  blue, 
An'  axed  me  was  dis  hyar  de  main  avenue, 

Den  walked  ovali  dnr 

To  dose  ten'ment  rows. 

Had  he  friends  in  dar  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

( iord  only  knows. 


160  GORD  ONLY  KNOWS 

I  doan  bleb  in  treatin'  a  gran'fader  so, 

Kase  some  day  its  comin'  right  squar  back  yer  know. 

An'  when  we  grow  ole 

An'  come  to  de  snows, 

Den  who'll  keer  fo'  us? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

Gord  keeps  account  ob  de  sparrers  dat  fall, 
We  stan'  a-waitin'  we  soon  hyar  him  call. 

Gord  brings  de  wintah, 

De  rain  an'  de  snows, 

Gord  makes  de  win'  blow, 

But  jes'  whar  it  goes, 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  onlv  knows. 


JES'  TAKE  MY  ADVICE 

Jes'  a  little  sunshine,  jes'  a  little  rain, 

Jes'  a  little  happiness,  jes'  a  little  pain. 

Jes'  a  little  verselet  sounds  mighty  nice 

'Bout  some  oddah  business  ;  jes'  take  my  advice. 

Jes'  a  little  chicken-coop  standin'  neah  de  fence 
Jes'  a  little  dahkey,  too,  widout  a  hit  ob  sense  ; 
Jes'  a  little  pressin'  by  de  fahmer  on  de  triggah, 
Jes'  a  little  'splosion,  den  a  perforated  niggah. 

Jes'  a  little  lazy  coon  roiin'  a  shootin'  craps, 
Den  a  buyin'  policies  roun'  de  lottery  traps  ; 
Jes'  a  little  out  ob  cash,  jes'  a  little  stuck  ; 
Jes'  a  little  hungry,  jes'  a  niggah's  luck. 

Jes'  a  little  bettin'  on  de  faverite  in  de  race  ; 
Jes'  a  little  ways  behin',  workin'  hard  fo'  place  ; 
Jes'  a  little  money  won  by  dat  oddah  moke. 
Jes'  a  little  thing  like  dat  lef  dis  dahkey  broke. 

Jes'  a  little  pressin'  on  de  latch,  wid  no  one  in  ; 
Jes'  a  little  jewelry,  jes'  a  diamond  pin  ; 
Jes'  a  little  sheriff  on  a  niggah's  trail. 
Jes'  seen  little  tings  as  dat  got  dis  coon  in  jail. 


PATRIOTISM  AND  A  PENSION 

Ole  I'o'th  oh  July 

Am  mighty  close  by, 
Kase  I  done  smell  powdah  in  de  ahr  ; 

An'  de  beatin  ob  de  drums 

When  de  regiment  comes 
Sort  o'  'minds  me  ob  de  times  in  de  wall. 

I  was  chief  ob  a  division 

Dat  furnished  de  pervision. 
An'  I  done  looked  wid  pride  on  niah  troops 

I  haid  em  so  well  drilled 

Dat  none  ob  dem  got  killed — 
Ouah  bizness  was  inspectin'  chicken  coops. 

1  was  shot  froo  de  lip. 

An'  wounded  in  de  hip, 
En  fractuah'd  mo'  er  less  about  de  haid, 

At  de  trouble  roun'  I'o't  Pickens. 

I  was  skirmagin'  for  chickens 
When  mah  foot  slipt  an'  I  fell  off  de  shaid. 

Gen'l  Sherman  gib  us  right 

To  forage  mos"  de  night, 
So  dat's  why  Ise  trompin'  on  dis  paig. 

I  was  out  abductin'  salt, 

When  somebody  hollahed  "halt !  " 
An'  de  fool  up  an'  shot  me  in  de  laig. 

162 


in: 


Jais  what  I  want  ter  mension 
Is,  I  want  increase  oh  pension, 

An'  I  make  inah  affidavit  fo'  de judge 
Dat  I  was  in  conmian' 
When  a  shell  bust  in  inah  hand, 

An'  fo'  fohty-seben  days  I  couldn't  budge. 

I'll  stop,  en  hoi'  inah  peace, 

Ef  I  get  a  good  increase  ; 
I  want  mah  pension  bill  increased  to  five  ; 

Foh  inah  lip,  en  hip,  an'  hand, 

En  mah  haid,  yo'  unde'stan', 
An'  one  jes'  fo'  comin'  out  alive. 


THt  01. 1)  MUSICIAN'S  HATH 

lie  played  so  many  instruments 

A  thousand  won't  express 
The  number  that  he  handled — why 

'Twas  nior'n  that,  I  guess  ; 
An"  when  he  got  to  playin'  hard 

\Ye  couldn't  make  'im  stop  ; 
It  seemed  he  didn't  want  to  rest 

Er  ever  take  a  drop. 
He'd  look  around  fer  things  to  play, 

Then  walk  up  to  the  viol 
As  if  he'd  suddenly  forgot, 

An'  touch  up  that  awhile. 
The  mandolin  was  his  best  holt — 

He  jest  took  the  diploma 
With  his  Philomela,  Tierra 

Del  Fuego,  L,a  Paloma. 
He  played  an  upright  pianner  forte, 

A  concert  grand,  or  square, 
And  he  imitated  Paddy 

Roofski,  all  accept  the  hair. 
Yon  should  have  heard  him  when  he  played 

Upon  an  old  trombone 
That  song  about  the  moments  when 

One  wants  to  be  alone. 
He  played  upon  an  Aeolian, 

Told  us  how  he  used  to  roam 
An'  play  "  Little  Sally  Waters" 

Ten  thousand  miles  from  home. 
He  played  a  big  church  organ  great, 

1'lavt'd  with  his  hands  and  feet, 


TJ/J-:  (>/.  I)  Ml  '.S7C  7. 7.V.V  /•'.  /  '/•/;• 

And  often  played  the  choir,  too. 

Oh,  it  was  just  a  treat, 
lie  played  the  jevvsharp,  hit  the  pipe, 

And  worked  the  organette  ; 
He  played  not  only  instruments, 

But  everyone  he  met. 
He  played  'em  all  ;  you  should  have  heard 

Him  jerk  a  grewsome  tune 
And  play  those  eozoic  notes 

Upon  a  long  bassoon. 
He  played  the  soft  guitar  an'  scraped 

The  tuneful  violin  ; 
Old  "  number  five  "  was  his  best  holt. 

He  used  to  sit  and  grin. 
An'  jest  ketch  up  the  instruments 

One  right  after  another  ; 
It  didn't  make  no  difference, 

For  one  was  good  as  t'other. 
Strange  instruments — the  lyre  and  lute 

And  others  that  he  tooted. 
You  took  your  choice.     He  didn't  care 

Whether  he  fifed  or  Muted. 
He'd  rather  play  'an  anvthing. 

Unless  it  was  to  drink, 
Because  he  said  it  rested  'ini 

An'  gave  'im  time  to  think. 
He  made  some  curious  instruments 

That  nobody  could  play. 
And  said  'at  he  would  jest  about 

Surprise  us  all  some  day. 
And  so  one  time  lie  fetched  'er  out, — 

Of  all  the  lookin'  tilings, 
With  harps  an'  horns  attached  to  'er 

An'  run  criss-cross  with  strings. 
He  brought  'er  forth  an'  sat  'er  down 

As  if  he  knew  his  bi/, 
And  when  we  asked  him  what  it  was/ 

He  answered,  "What  it  is." 


1 66  THE  OLD  Ml  'S/(  7.  I.\"S  /•'.  I  77:' 

We  laughed  as  we  were  seated  'round  ; 

I  recollect  'twas  June  ; 
It  rained  that  spring,  rained  all  this  morn. 

And  rained  that  afternoon. 
There  seemed  a  touch  of  magic  in 

The  deftness  of  his  hand  ; 
A  look  about  his  pallid  face 

We  didn't  understand. 
The  instrument  we  noted  much, 

It  had  such  curioiis  stringing 
The  frets  arranged  in  such  a  way  ; 

He'd  made  it  so  for  singin'. 
Then  touching  on  a  happy  theme 

That  carried  us  remote. 
To  sunset  lands,  for  melody 

Divine  was  in  each  note. 
We  listened  to  the  lullabies 

Till  all  were  silent,  stilled. 
In  memory  of  the  bygone  days, 

The  eyes  of  all  were  filled. 
Then  on  to  sterner  manhood  and 

Old  age.     Ah  !  how  he  played  ! 
We  saw  again  life's  pathway,  too  ; 

But  oh  !  how  far  we'd  strayed. 
Then  on  to  sunken  cheeks  we  pass. 

From  life  then  on  to  glory. 
O  song  !  O  dirge  I  O  sainted  theme  ! 

Sad  requiem  to  life's  story. 
That  pallid  look  now  comes  again. 

The  tremors  o'er  him  creep. 
His  head  falls  back.     Dead?     No,  my  friend, 

He's  simply  gone  to  sleep. 


A  RECORD  F'OM  'WAY  BACK 

Yo'  spose  Ise  gwine  ter  cuh-conib 

An'  boddah  wid  dis  nag 
Ef  I  low'd  he  wasn't  evah  gwinter  go  ? 

Why  chile,  yo'  make  me  tiahed  ! 

Dis  ve'y  hoss  was  siahed 
By  Pokehontas  fohty  yahs  ago. 

Ise  doctahed  up  his  wheezin', 

An'  done  stopped  him  ob  his  sneeziiv  ; 
Kn  pahsley  cuahed  de  spavin  on  his  baik  ; 

Ef  he  wasn't  quite  so  bulky, 

I'd  put  him  'foah  de  sulky, 
An'  lait  yo'  see  his  motion  on  de  traik, 

'Ceptin'  froo  de  wintah,  las'  yeah 

I  haid  him  out  to  pastuah  ; 
Hut  de  famah  said  he  didn't  hab  no  saince. 

Dar's  nuffin  '11  keep  'im  quiet 

When  he  gits  down  on  'is  diet, 
An'  once  'e  eat  a  whole  bahb-wiah  faiuce. 

De  way  I  come  to  buy  'im 

Was,  de  day  I  come  to  try  'im 
Lse  dumb-foundered  wid  de  way  he  tuk  de  bit. 

An'  as  I  was  on  mah  way  baik, 

He  kerlided  wid  a  hay  stack, 
An'  hi  couldn't  coax  'is  tenshun  offen  hit. 

Yo'  notice  dat  he  winks,  sah, 

He's  comin'  out  de  kinks,  sah  ; 
An'  mine  yo'  doan  go  nyah  his  heels  at  all, 

Kase  'e's  nuhvas  an'  'e's  dangus, 

An'  speshly  so  to  strangers, 
An'  hi  nevah  'low  no  ])iisson  'roun'  'is  stall. 


He's  pow'ful  fond  ob  grazin' 

An'  his  appytite's  amazin'  ; 
Dat's  a  sho  sign  dat  'e's  got  good  bottom  to  'im. 

When  I  bought  'iin  'e's  so  thin 

Dat  'e  couldn't  ketch  's  win', 
An'  Rasmus,  yo'  could  read  a  papah  thro'  'im. 

I  tale  yo'  he's  a  hummah, 

'Low  I'll  show  de  folks  dis  sumniah, 
Kase  jes'  now  he  aint  feelin'  zackly  bright, 

When  he  gets  'is  second  win'  sah, 

Yo'  ought  to  see  him  spin,  sah, 
Why,  chile,  dat  hoss's  reckod  's  out  ob  sight. 


THANKSG1BBIN   IN  OLE  V1RGINNY 

Ter-day's  Thanksgibbin', 

En  good  land  er  libbin', 
Go  gib  de  ole  hoss  er  double  mess  o'  co'n. 

Ole  pot  bubble 

Possum's  in  trouble, 

An'  vve's  gwine  ter  feas'  upon  'im  sho's  yo'  bo'n. 
Nigger  wid  de  long  straw  he  git  de  possum  ; 

Nigger  wid  de  nex'  straw  de  jack  rabbit ;  den 
Nigger  wid  de  nex'  one  he  gits  de  turkey, 

But  de  short  straw  done  draw  de  little  Guinea  hen. 

De  little  speckle'  hen, 

De  little  Guinea  hen, 
Little  pickaninny  has  ter  eat  de  Guinea  hen. 

Ter-day's  Thanksgibbin', 

Good  Ian'  er  libbin'. 
Po'  ole  beggah-man  comes  knockin'  at  de  do'; 

Gib  'im  offyo'  table 

Long  as  yo'  is  able, 

Kase  poverty  an'  hunger  may  sometime  come  to  yo'. 
Darkey  wid  de  long  straw  he  git  de  possum, 

Darkey  wid  de  nex'  straw  de  jack  rabbit ;  den 
Darkey  wid  de  nex'  one  he  git  de  turkey, 

But  de  short  straw  done  draw  de  little  Guinea  hen. 

De  little  speckle'  hen, 

De  little  Guinea  heu, 
De  short  straw  done  draw  de  little  Guinea  hen. 


GRAVE  MATTERS 

Wen  dis  ole  man  comes  ter  die, 

Death  is  mos'  unsightly  ; 
Doan'  yo'  lay  me  in  no  room 
Wid  de  pull-down  curtain  gloom  ; 
'Tain't  de  place  de  dead  should  stay 
Wen  de  spirit's  gone  away, 

Off  ter  where  hit's  brightly. 

'Struct de  pa'son  'fore  he  'gins, 

'fetch  the  subject  tritely  ; 
Kase  hit's  gen'ly  undahstood 
I  hain't  been  so  pow'ful  good  ; 
And  fo'  him  ter  shout  an'  groan 
'Bout  me  settin'  roun'  de  frone, 
'JvOw  hit  won't  look  rightly. 

Wen  de  fun'al  'gins  ter  start, 
Shove  mah  box  in  tightly. 

'Membah  I  is  in  de  hearse  ; 

Yo'  am  comin',  but  Ise  firs'. 

Ef  de  mo'ners  grieve  and  mope, 

So's  ter  make  de  bosses  lope, 
Keep  de  team  up  sprightly. 

lyowah  me  slowly  in  de  grave  ; 

Drap  de  earf  down  lightly. 
Needn't  linger  long,  and,  say, 
'Spense  wid  prayer's  de  better  way  ; 
Don't  keer  ef  nobody  sings. 
Jes  ter  know  de  chu'ch  bell  rings 

'S  gwine  ter  please  me  might'ly. 


COMIN'  CHRISTMAS  MORN 

I'm  goiti'  to  start  next  Saturday; 

It  won't  take  more'n  a  day 
To  visit  the  United  States 

In  my  new  toboggan  sleigh. 
I've  sent  Jack  Frost  ahead  o'  me 

To  sort  o'  find  a  road, 
So  my  deers  '11  find  it  easy 

'Cause  I've  got  an  awful  load. 

But  they've  had  lots  o'  exercise, 

An'  know  the  way  by  sight ; 
I've  speeded  them  to  Baffin's  Bay 

An'  back  here  'fore  'twas  night. 
An'  once  I  drove  to  Puget's  Sound 

An'  once  to  Behring  Sea  ; 
I  had  ter  make  a  trip  up  there 

To  get  a  Christmas  tree. 

I  wish't  you  all  could  see  my  house, 

Built  out  o'  cakes  o'  ice  ; 
I  guess  you  think  it  cold  inside, 

But  no,  it's  awful  nice. 
All  carpeted  with  sealskin  rugs, 

An'  ermine,  mink  and  sable  ; 
I'm  going  to  keep  it  furnished  so 

As  long  as  I  am  able. 


172  mi//.V  CHRISTMAS  MORN 

An'  no  goniphobers  in  the  north 

Can  steal  'round  unawares, 
Because  my  castle's  guarded  by 

Two  great  big  polar  bears. 
So  if  a  burglar  man  should  come 

An'  try  to  break  into  it 
They'ud  squeeze  his  life  out  in  a  jif, 

I've  taught  'em  how  to  do  it. 

Just  right  around  behind  my  house 

Is  where  I  keep  the  toys, 
'At  I  am  comin'  south'ard  with 

Fer  all  good  girls  an'  boys. 
My  big  cold  storage  warehouse  stands 

Right  by  a  frozen  tarn 
An'  right  along  aside  o'  it 

I  have  my  reindeer's  barn. 

So  never  mind,  they're  both  piled  full 

Of  everything  on  earth, 
With  Christmas  gifts  till  you  can't  rest, 

I  don't  know  what  they're  worth. 
An'  four  big  sea  dogs  set  outside 

Two  walruses,  a  seal 
That  knows  so  much  if  you'd  come  nigh 

He'd  be  the  first  to  squeal. 

The  purtiest  sight  you  ever  sa\v, 

'S  when  things  is  lit  up  nights — 
You  know  we  don't  have  gas  up  here, 

But  use  the  Northern  Lights. 
An'  forth  from  every  icicle 

A  dazzle  spreads  away 
That  turns  the  hull  big  frozen  zone 

Into  one  mighty  day. 

From  where  I  live  I'd  have  you  know. 

It's  truth  upon  my  soul, 
I  don't  have  very  far  to  go 

To  see  the  big  North  Pole, 


COMIW  CHRISTMAS  MORN  173 

Where  Uncle  Sam  has  pinned  his  flag, 
There's  where  the  cold  wind  pipes, 

And  flaunts  the  emblem  of  the  brave, 
The  proud  old  stars  and  stripes. 

I'm  coming  children,  coming,  yes, 

You  ought  to  see  my  sleigh, 
And  hear  the  tinkle,  tinkle,  as 

I  speed  along  the  way, 
Through  forests  bare,  o'er  snowy  plains. 

As  sure  as  you  are  born, 
Old  Santa  Claus  is  coming  and 

Will  be  here  Christmas  morn. 


SAD  PATH  OF  YIM  YOHNSEN 

Ay  been  har  een  deese  country 

Feni  yar  go  laist  week  ; 
Ay  been  smart  Norwehians — 

Ay  keets  on  pooty  quvick. 

Ven  Ay  keni  har  Ay  see  beg  krode 

Of  fallers  en  Ay  tal 
Ay  vants  niae  go  pooty  bad 

To  da  Stockholm  hotal. 

De  bus  mans  say  vere  you  kem  fram  ? 

Ay  say  by  {Copenhagen. 
Hae  puss  mae  rate  troo  krode 

An'  get  niae  in  his  vagen. 

Next  day  get  yob  in  engine-bus  ; 

Dae  fomans  he  like  mae. 
Hae  rase  mae  vadgses  leeta  vile  ; 

Ay  tank  Ay  stay  vade  hae. 

Ay  get  mae  quainted  nice  gal, 

Her  nam  is  Christina  Yohnsen  ; 

She  been  here  bote  hawixteen  yar, 
She  kem  hare  bay  Visconsen. 

She  say  she  verk  Saidgeveck  street 

By  da  Norway  hotel  ; 
She  got  blue  eye  en  some  rade  hair — 

Ay  laka  hare  pooty  val. 

A}-  ask  hare  dake  a  street-car  rade. 
She  say  she  tank  she  voke  ; 

Ay  voke  by  hare  to  Lincoln  Park 
En  have  a  pooty  good  talk. 

'74 


SAD  FATE  OF  YIM  YOHNSEN  175 

She  call  mae  hare  partickley  frande 

En  den  I  tank  she  say, 
' '  Who  vill  be  my  papie 

Ven  Yim  is  gone  avay." 

Pooty  quvick  she  see  vooinan  frande 

En  den  she  say  to  mae  ; 
"  Mister  Yohnsen  please  excoose  mae, 
Ay  vill  meed  yo'  after  tea." 

En  leeta  vile  Ay  tink  Ay  go 

To  da  Stockholm  hotel. 
Ay  meese  mae  money,  vatch,  en  chain  ; 

Ay  feel  mae  not  real  veil. 

Ay  drink  mae  alcoholen, 

Bote  fifteen  glass,  en  svair ; 
Ay  fight  mae  two  policemans 

Ay  tank  Ay  soon  gets  squair. 

Dae  call  patrolen  vagen 

En  Ay  rade  to  da  yail ; 
Ay  stay  mae  dare  bout  fern  day, 

Den  Ay  keni  out  on  bail. 

Ay  tell  da  yustice  man  abote 

De  rade-head  gal  Ay  seen  ; 
Da  krode  of  fallers  laugh  en  say 

Dat  ya  is  pooty  green. 

Chicago  konty  vare  bad  place, 

Ay  loose  mae  vadgses  all ; 
Ay  take  mae  trunk  to  depot  train 

En  go  mae  by  Santa  Pol. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ST.  JOSEPH 

There's  a  place,  'pon  my  soul, 

Called  the  "Old  Devil's  Hole," 

By  the  Chippewa  chief,  Black  Otter, 

Who  when  business  was  damp 

Went  into  his  camp, 

And  filled  up  with  fierce  fire  water. 

Then  over  the  river 
Over  the  river 

He  called  to  his  squaw,  Maumee, 
"  Go  get  my  canoe, 
And  you  may  come  too, 
And  bring  little  Walle-wo-ge.'1 

So  off  to  the  river 
They  all  flew  the  ground, 
"  Black  Otter  "  as  brave  as  could  be, 
And  the  little  pappoose — 
He  couldn't  get  loose — 
Was  strapped  to  the  back  of  Maumee. 

They  floated  till  dark, 

When  the  wolfs  weird  bark 

Frightened  the  wits  of  Maumee  ; 

So  she  loosened  the  sack, 

Tied  fast  to  her  back, 

That  contained  little  Walle-wo-ge. 


176 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ST.  JOSEPH  177 

"  Black  Otter  "  bent  low 
And  reached  for  his  how, 
When  the  boat  tipped  up  on  its  side 
And  in  fell  he,  with  his  squaw  Maumee  ; 
And  the  boat  set  free,  with  Walle-wo-ge, 
Sped  swiftly  along  with  the  tide. 

Down  the  swift  river's  tide 

The  pappoose  took  a  ride  ; 

The  canoe  shot  along  like  a  rocket, 

But  he  lay  there  as  snug 

As  a  bug  in  a  rug; 

Or  an  old  woolen  glove  in  a  pocket. 

On,  on,  out  to  sea, 

Drifted  Walle-wo-ge, 

With  his  face  pointed  up  to  the  skies  ; 

And  history  says, 

Which  is  true,  more  or  less, 

That  the  gray  sea  gulls  pecked  out  his  eyes. 

Black  Otter  was  drowned 

And  never  was  found  ; 

But  they  say  that  old  Squaw  Maumee 

Waded  back  thro'  the  damp 

Of  the  marsh  to  the  camp 

In  search  of  her  Walle-wo-ge. 

Came  back  thro'  the  swale, 

And  the  rain  and  the  hail, 

By  the  side  of  the  waters  so  blue, 

In  search  of  her  baby, 

To  pick  him  up,  may  be, 

I  wish  this  would  all  come  out  true. 

Her  spirit  distressed, 

She  beat  on  her  breast, 

For  the  poor  old  squaw's  grief  knew  no  bound; 

But  Monets  so  swift, 

Bore  her  off  in  a  skiff, 

To  the  land  of  the  famed  hunting  ground. 


178  LEGEND  OF  THP2  ST.  JOSEPH 

On  the  ninth  of  November 

I  hope  you'll  rememlxir, 

A  phantom  one  plainly  can  r,ee 

Walk  down  from  the  hole. 

In  search  of  the  soul 

Of  poor  little  Walle-wo-ge. 

Now,  this  is  the  legend 

Of  this  old-time  region, 

And  the  tale  of  the  squaw  Maumec, 

Likewise  old  Black  Otter, 

Who  fell  in  the  water, 

And  poor  little  Walle-wo-ge. 


LITTLE  JUDE 

Po'  little  Jude,  why,  doan'  yo'  know 
Dat  little  chile  ?     A  yeah  ago 
Her  muddah  died.     I  reckon  now 
'Twas  jais  las'  spring  Ise  tellin'  yo' 
'Bout  little  Jude. 

Po'  little  waif  indeed  she  war  ; 
An'  how  she  cried,  jes'  out  de  crib 
Dat  baby  war  an'  her  muddah  died. 
Could  walk  an'  run  an'  jabbah  some, 
Dat  little  Jude.     Hit  make  me  cry, 
Tale  yo'  hit  do,  jes'  when  I  tink 
'Bout  little  Jude, 

De  fun'al  day  she  war  asleep, 
Tuckt  in  de  crib,  dat  little  chile 
Had  on  her  bib — dat  orfin  Jude. 
De  mo'ners  come  ;  an'  when  dey  pray 
Dat  little  Jude  waked  up  an'  say  : 
Mammie  !  Mammie  !  "  jes'  dat  way. 
Nobody  know  jes'  what  to  do 
Wid  little  Jude. 

She  cry  so  ha'd  dey  HP  her  down  ; 
F'om  room  to  room  she  toddled  roun' 
A-cryin'  :  "  Mammie  !  come  an'  take 
Yo'  little  Judy  dat's  awake — 
Yo'  little  Judy's  wide  awake." 
My  Ian'  !  de  teahs  come  in  my  eyes  ! 
But  when  she  foun'  her  own  high  chain, 
Dat  had  been  hid  an'  pushed  it  up 
'Long  side  ob  whah  her  muddah  was, 
An'  den  climbed  up  an'  pounded  on 
De  coffin-lid,  I  couldn't  stan' 
De  awful  grief — de  sobs  an'  teahs — 
An'  little  Jude,  a-lookin'  roun' 
Foh  one  dat  now  at  las'  she's  foun'— 
Why,  chile  I  kain't — I  nevah  will 
Fo'get  dat  day. 

170 


LITTLE  PUCKEN   SINGER 

Ae  tank  Ae  gal  hae  "ote  a  sate," 

She  bae  Little  Pucken  singen. 
Har  eyes  bae  bright,  lake  stars  bae  nate, 

An  bae  gol,  niae  ears  bae  ringen 

Vare  much, 

Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 
Des  var  fane  gal  bae  drass  in  vate — 

She  bae  des  contraldo  .singen. 
Ae  tank  sometime  sha  bae  yust  lak 

Dere  fairies  tengs,  vid  clingen 

Brasses  on, 
Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 

Des  songs  sha  sings  bae  "  Do  Ce  Las," 

Bae  des  Spanish  langvage  written 
Dae  pootiest  teng,  Ae  tank,  der  vas 

En  al  des  vorld.     Ae  tank  Ae  smitten 

Ved  har 

Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 
Ae  go  an  see  har  avry  nate, 

( Ae  vonder  vot  sha  tanks  bae  mae  ? ) 
An  sit  al  time  bae  dae  front  sate, 

An  look  bae  har.     Ae  tank  Ae  bae 

Beg  fools, 

Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 
But  al  de  same  Ae  go  vonce  more, 

Yust  for  von  glance  bae  har  pooty  eyes, 
Dae  make  mae  heart  stop.     Den  Ae  fale  sore 

Vare  much.     Ae  tank  ets  al  lies — 

Dose  eyes, 

Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 
Ae  tank  des  gal  bae  ' '  ote  a  sate  : ' ' 

She  bae  Little  Pucken  singen, 
Har  eyes  bae  bright,  like  stars  bae  nate, 

An  bae  gol,  mae  ears  bae  ringen 

Vare  much, 
Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 


DOWN   IN    WALHALLALAH 

I  put  flowers  on  L,eeda's  grave 

Down  in  Walhallalah  ; 
Flowers  that  in  the  spring  she  gave, 
Asking  me  to  cherish,  save, 
Still  I  placed  them  on  her  grave 
Down  in  Walhallalah. 

Tender  rains  came  down  at  night, 

Down  in  Walhallalah 
Took  the  flowers  I  had  pressed 
Tenderly  to  earth  and  blessed  ; 
They  returned,  ah  !  newly  dressed, 

Down  in  Walhallalah. 

But  one  flower  I  had  pressed 

Down  in  Walhallalah, 
Did  not  find  its  way  up  through 
With  the  violets  so  blue 
And  the  marigolds  that  grew 

Down  in  Walhallalah. 

Ah  !  farewell  for  evermore  ; 

Farewell,  Walhallalah, 
Tender  rains  from  ashen  skies 
Never  more  can  ope  the  eyes 
Of  the  angelhood  that  lies 

Cold  in  Walhallalah. 

Withered  hopes,  how  like  my  soul, 

Down  in  Walhallalah, 
Never  more  shall  rise  and  bloom  ; 
Such  the  fate  of  love.     The  doom 
Of  all  is  but  the  tombed  gloom 

Down  in  Walhallalah. 


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